Wilfully
by Anayashe
Summary: For the life of her, Ginny Weasley did not know how this had happened. She could have blamed the two glasses of expensive champagne, or considered the possibility of being put under the Imperius Curse, but she knew deep down that that was not the case. Somehow, she had knowingly and wilfully ended up here. Shit. (Draco/Ginny. Non compliant with Epilogue. Read and review, folks!)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone!** **Here is a story based on an idea that popped into my head and wouldn't just go away! So here it is, written and published. A few notes though:**

 **1.** This story takes place 6 years after the defeat of Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. It is compatible with the almost all of the canon material EXCEPT the epilogue (and hence, the Cursed Child).

 **2.** I don't speak any French, so all the French you'll see in this story comes from Google translate. So I am sorry if any of it is wrong. For those of you who don't know the language, I'm going to be putting in the translations at the very end.

 **3.** The photo avatar for this story belongs to _aqvarelles_ on deviantart.

 **I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this story. :)**

* * *

 **WILFULLY:** **CHAPTER 1**

* * *

For the life of her, Ginny Weasley did not know how this had happened.

She could have blamed the expensive champagne for it, but she had only had a couple of glasses and it was not enough to get her drunk. She supposed she could consider the possibility of being put under the Imperius Curse, but she knew deep down that that was not it either. Somehow, she had knowingly and wilfully ended up here.

 _Shit_.

 **xx**

It had all started when the Holyhead Harpies had been invited to France to play a friendly Quidditch match against the Gaillarde Géants for Serenity Initiative, a charity that helped witches and wizards affected by the Dark Arts cope with trauma. The Harpies had won the match, of course, and Ginny had scored four goals, two of which – dare she say it herself – had been rather spectacular.

The match was followed by a formal ball hosted by Edmond Lefebvre, who was not only the second most powerful man at the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France but also the head of the Lefebvre family, which was one of the most prestigious wizarding families of France, or so Fleur had gushed when Ginny had informed her family of her travel plans.

And so, Ginny found herself at Château d'Orchidée, a beautiful 16th century mansion named after the fields of orchids that surrounded it. As she walked into the grand ballroom with her teammates, she was glad that she had taken her sister-in-law's advice and shopped for the occasion. The mustard gown she was wearing had cost her a hundred galleons, and while that was probably nothing in comparison to the cost of what most women at the event were wearing, it was certainly the most expensive item in her wardrobe.

It wasn't that she couldn't afford expensive things. The Weasleys had come off a long way in the six years since the Second Wizarding War had ended. All her brothers had stable jobs, her father was now the Head of the Department of Magical Equipment Control, and it was her third year playing for the Holyhead Harpies. But a lifetime of 'careful spending' had left her somewhat frugal, which is why spending such a hefty sum on a dress had been difficult… and also kind of exhilarating.

Picking up a flute of champagne from one of the floating trays, she stopped by a wall to admire a moving mural depicting an ancient battle when a voice demanded her attention.

"Beautiful, iz it not?" Lukas Lefebvre asked. A handsome man in his late twenties, Lukas was the son of their host. "It iz an original Boulle. Of course, you wouldn't know her."

"Claudet Boulle, famously known for her realism and use of bold colours, is one of the most renowned wizarding painters of the nineteenth century," Ginny stated, for once feeling glad that she had taken art as an extra-curricular subject at Hogwarts in her third year.

Lukas looked surprised for a moment. "Yes, well, Boulle painted this especially for my great-grandfather. She waz a friend of the family." He gestured towards the guests. "Come, _mademoiselle_. I will introduce you to some of ze other friends of my family. You will not know them, I am certain."

Ginny smiled politely and allowed him to steer her towards the other French elites in attending. It was not the type of crowd that she normally hung out with, but the whole goal of this event was to socialise, so she endured with a smile and made polite conversation – well, as well as she could converse, considering she only knew a handful of French and some of them spoke no English at all.

Lukas translated for her, but every time he did so she felt him stiffen with disdain, as if he found the lack of her ability to speak French insulting. It was a shame, she thought, that unlike his father Edmond Lefebvre who possessed the polished charisma of a politician, Lukas only came across as condescending.

And of course, it didn't take long before he broached the topic of the century. "I heard zat you are no longer dating 'arry Potter."

"Yes," Ginny replied. "Harry and I broke up. Over a year ago now."

He tutted with disapproval. "But I heard zat you were in love."

"We were."

"Then why?"

Ginny responded with a shrug, wondering if tossing her drink in his face would be considered too rude. It would be, her mind supplied, so she downed the contents of her glass instead.

She understood the curiosity, she truly did: Harry Potter was the hero of the Wizarding World. He was the Boy Who Lived Twice. He killed Voldemort, and though Voldemort hadn't directly attacked any country outside of Britain, his reign of terror had an impact that surpassed boundaries. Everyone was thankful, everyone was in awe, everyone was interested… None of that made it easier for her to answer these questions. Her break-up with Harry was one of the hardest things that she had gone through in her life, and she knew that it was the same for him. The reasons were their own and she owed no one an explanation.

"Il s'agit d'une surprise inattendue!" Lukas exclaimed suddenly.

"Sorry?" Ginny asked, but his attention was now fixed on a very familiar looking man standing a few feet from them. She froze.

' _Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world_.'

The line from a muggle film that Hermione had once made her watch was fitting in the current situation, because never in her wildest dreams would Ginny Weasley have imagined running into Draco Malfoy at this party.

It took her a moment to realize that in her shock, she had allowed Lukas to practically steer her towards Malfoy. "Tante Coline sera heureux de voir que vous êtes ici, mon ami." Lukas was saying in lieu of greeting.

"Il était difficile de refuser son invitation," Malfoy replied. His grey eyes widened for a moment when he saw her, but he did a quick job of hiding his surprise. "Je suppose que vous êtes montrant vos invités autour."

"Hmm? Oh!" Lukas turned to Ginny, as if remembering that she was still with him. "Miss Weasley, allow me to introduce you to –"

"Draco Malfoy." Ginny cut in. Now that the initial shock of seeing him had worn off, she was in control of her emotions. "It's been a while."

A while it had been, indeed. The last time she had seen Malfoy in person was at the Battle of Hogwarts. During the Death Eater trials, his face had been plastered all over the newspapers. Harry had spoken for him then, declaring that Draco Malfoy had been a reluctant follower of Voldemort and that he had inadvertently helped the Golden Trio a couple of times during their quest. His testimony had resulted in a lenient verdict from the Wizengamot - heavy fines and twelve months of probation - something the press and a lot of the public hadn't been happy with.

But after the trial, Malfoy had faded into the shadows. Ginny knew that the Aurors kept a weather eye on him, as they did on all those who had once been close to Voldemort. And she knew that he was now and then featured in the business section of the Daily Prophet, but a lack of interest, both in the business sector and in him, had kept her in dark about his activities.

Malfoy met her gaze evenly. "Weasley."

"Do you know each other?" Lukas asked, looking between the two of them.

 _Know each other_. That was one way of putting it, she supposed. It was certainly an apt summary of years of bullying, quarrelling, and general hatred towards each other. Malfoy must have been thinking along the same lines for he arched an eyebrow, as if giving her the go-ahead to respond in any way she deemed fit. As if she needed his permission. Prat.

"We are _acquainted_ ," Ginny replied much too politely.

"Excellent!" Lukas clapped his hands together excitedly. The sarcasm behind her response was either lost on him or he was simply ignoring it. "You two can give each other company. I have had to translate for Miss Weasley because she does not speak French, but you will not have zat problem."

Ginny could not help but stare incredulously at the host's son. It's not as if she had asked him to be her guide; she was perfectly fine on her own, occasionally mingling with the other Quidditch players and admiring the art.

Lukas, who clearly didn't care much for the glare she sent his way, turned to Malfoy. "Du bon côté, je n'aurai pas à soudoyer les gens pour vous parler," he said with a wink.

She had no idea what he had said, but it must have been something offensive because for a brief second Malfoy looked like he was resisting the urge to pull out his wand. Lukas once again remained oblivious.

Ginny wondered if being an arsehole was a prerequisite for being filthy rich. The only person she closely knew who owned what could be qualified as a hefty fortune was Harry, but Harry had always been modest. Half a lifetime of having to live in a cupboard under the stairs would do that to you, she reckoned. Still, as she glanced at Lukas and Malfoy and thought back to all those pureblood Slytherins she had encountered back at Hogwarts, she could not help but think that her theory had ground.

She felt obliged to glare at Lukas as he excused himself and bowed apologetically, as if leaving their company was causing him pain, and swaggered away.

"Git!"

"Twat!"

She hadn't even realised that she had insulted the host's son until she heard Malfoy do the same. Startled, she turned and found her gaze locked with his. A moment of silence passed between them in which they appreciated their mutual dislike of Lukas, and then he turned his attention towards a drinks tray floating by.

"Congratulations, by the way," he said as he picked up a glass of firewhiskey. "On your victory against the Géants."

"Thank you." Her reply was short. She hadn't forgotten all those years at Hogwarts when Malfoy had tormented her family and her friends, so the prospect of holding a conversation with him did not seem appealing. Picking up another flute of champagne from the tray, she looked around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of her teammates so she could go join them.

"Of course," Malfoy went on, "Winning against a team as horrid as the Géants is no feat at all. I doubt the Harpies will even make it to the second round in the real league."

"Excuse me?" Ginny rounded on him.

"You heard me." Malfoy said, brushing an imaginary strand off the sleeve of his impeccable black wizard's tuxedo. No doubt, his clothes cost more than her three-month salary. "Griffiths is a worse keeper than your useless brother ever was, and _that_ is saying something."

"You're wrong." Ginny scoffed. Abigail Griffiths was her friend and was simply going through a rough patch, sports wise. And Ron may not have been the best keeper Gryffindor had but he wasn't useless. "The Harpies will do great this year."

"And I will be elected as the new Minister for Magic," he sneered.

 _There_ it was: that infamous Malfoy sneer. She had almost forgotten how much she had hated that stupid, smug expression. She was all reminded now. It was pathetic that the years had not changed Malfoy a bit. He was still the same arsehole that he had been back at Hogwarts.

"You're one to talk," she retorted icily, "Seeing as you lost every single match you played against Harry back at Hogwarts."

He pressed his lips together in disdain. "Potter was always the better flyer out of the two of us. He had a natural talent for it."

Huh.

She hadn't expected that. The mighty Draco Malfoy admitting to his inferior talent was something that would have never happened back at Hogwarts. Either pigs were starting to fly by themselves, or maybe he _had_ evolved over time. A bit.

Startled by this revelation, Ginny took a moment or two to study him closely for the first time that evening. He was tall and lean, his skin pale as ever, reminding her of the countless vampire jokes her brothers had made at his expense, but his hair, now cropped short, was a shade or two darker than the iconic platinum blonde he had once possessed. He had grown into his pointed features, and she could find no trace of either the obnoxious bully or the conflicted Death Eater that he had once been.

"I know you are somewhat unschooled in etiquette, but surely even a Weasley would know that it is rude to stare."

His voice snapped her out of her blatant observations and she quickly averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks getting red. She would be damned if she let him see her embarrassed, though. "I was only checking for signs of sickness," she said, "You did just compliment Harry."

"I assure you, it wounded my pride greatly to do so," Malfoy said.

"Everything is normal, then," She took a sip of her champagne.

"Quite."

There was a lull in conversation but somehow, by unspoken consent, the two of them made their way to the back of the ballroom where a dozen or so circular high tables were set for people who wished to sit and converse. As they reached an empty table, Malfoy held out his hand to help her sit on the high stool.

All those years spent insulting her and her family and _now_ he wanted to act like a gentleman? Well, she would have none of it. Placing her glass in his outstretched hand, Ginny hopped onto the stool herself and took her time adjusting the skirts of her dress to make sure that too much of her leg was not bared through the slit. Let the prat wait for a bit. Once satisfied, she took her glass back without uttering a word of thanks.

The smile she received from him in response was _too_ sweet to be real, and she mentally congratulated herself on this petty little victory of sorts as she watched him take a seat across from her.

As soon as they were both seated, the candle on the table lit up and the empty golden platter filled up with an impressive assortment of bite-sized snacks. She started at the sudden appearance of the food, but he seemed completely unfazed. The bastard.

"So," She began as she picked up an appetizer at random and plopped it into her mouth. It was goat's cheese covered with dried apricots and _sweet Merlin_ , was it delicious! "What brings you to this party?"

Malfoy eyed her table manners with mild distaste but did not comment on it. "See, Weasley, if you could speak _ze French language,_ " He spoke the last three words in said accent, "my brief conversation with Lukas would have provided you with an answer to that."

Ginny rolled her eyes. " _Ah_ , Lukas. I shouldn't even be surprised that a posh ponce like that is your friend."

"He is not my friend," Malfoy muttered as he reached out for a paper napkin and some cheese.

His table etiquette was perfect. _Too_ perfect. He was a vision of bloody elegance as he ate soundlessly, then set down his small appetizer skewer in a straight vertical position and wiped his fingertips on the napkin, even though he hadn't even touched the food with his fingers. Nobody should be _this_ proper, she thought incredulously.

Not wanting to get caught staring at him again, she reached for more food and said, "You still haven't answered my question."

"I wasn't aware that I was obliged to." He said, but went on answering anyway, "I was invited by Coline Lefebv–"

"That old hag?" Ginny interrupted, remembering the grey-haired woman she had seen when she had arrived at the chateau. Gwenog Jones, the Harpies captain, had told her that the woman, who was looking down her nose at practically everything, was Edmond's older sister. "The one who clearly thinks that she is the queen of the world."

Malfoy shot her a sharp look but then his lips twitched with amusement. "I take it the Lefebvre have left quite a bad impression on you."

Ginny wondered if she should respond to that, then shrugged nonchalantly. She had every right to voice her opinions, even if they didn't paint their hosts in a very good light. "Lukas is an arse. Edmond was charming but I think it was a façade; he's a politician through and through so he'd put up whatever front was required of him."

Malfoy looked more and more amused by the second, which meant that either he shared her opinion or that he was enjoying some inside joke that she was not privy to. Or maybe he just had an annoyingly smug face. Yes, that was probably it.

"I could be wrong," she admitted, "But it's just that they come across as arrogant, superficial people who are drunk on their wealth and power."

He gestured at their lavish surroundings. "Should they not be?"

"Of course, you'd find nothing wrong with that. Aristocratic tosser," She muttered the last part under her breath, but kept her voice loud enough so that he would hear it.

Which he did, but instead of retaliating with an insult, he simply smirked and took a sip of his drink. She was certain now that he was enjoying some inside joke and that she was somehow the punchline of it.

She frowned at him, wondering for the dozenth time why she was still talking to him. Over snacks, no less. Maybe the time had come for her to make her exit, but before she could, a new voice sliced through the momentary silence.

"Te voilà, Draco!" Coline Lefebvre had walked over to their table. Up close, the woman seemed to be quite graceful not only in her appearance but in her movements, considering that she was in her late sixties, maybe even early seventies.

Malfoy slid off his seat to stand next to the older woman. "Bonsoir, grand-mère," he said.

 _Grand-mère_.

Ginny knew enough words in French to know what that meant. It was as if someone had hit her with a stunning spell and all she could do was sit there and gawk.

"Allow me to introduce you to Miss Ginevra Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies." Though Malfoy appeared to be entirely serious with his gentlemanliness, she knew he was enjoying the look on her face deep down. His amusement made perfect sense now, after all. "Miss Weasley, this is Coline Lefebvre, my grandmother."

Putting down her half-eaten gougère, Ginny quickly wiped her fingers on the napkin and held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, madame," she said. That was the maximum politeness she could muster at the moment and she wasn't going to stand up in honour of the woman, not when she was resisting the urge to bat-bogey her prat of a grandson.

Coline's pressed her lips together, then reached out and clasped her hand. "Miss Weasley," She said. "I know your family has come a long way but a ball like tonight's must be a relatively new experience for you. I do hope you are enjoying yourself." Her English accent was immaculate, but the woman had probably spent a large chunk of her life in Britain. She sounded haughty and yet her words had missed the mark of being offensive. Maybe she hadn't intended for them to be so, or maybe because what she had said was indeed true. The Weasleys were not used to attending parties in palaces.

"I am, thank you." Ginny replied. And then it suddenly hit her.

She had seen the Black family tree; she remembered it clearly from all those days of trying to make Grimmauld Place a habitable base for the Order. Narcissa Black's mother had been a Rosier... which meant that Coline Lefebvre was Lucius Malfoy's mother.

 _Sweet Merlin's pants_! The idea of Lucius Malfoy having a mother seemed bizarre. Ginny had always assumed the man had just dropped down from the skies, black cloaks swishing and that ugly cane swirling, and had sauntered about ruining lives of others. Somehow, this revelation shocked her the most this evening and she hurried to compose herself. Thankfully, the fleeting change in her expression from that of mild horror to casual indifference had gone unnoticed.

Taking a sip of her champagne – Merlin, she wished she had something stronger! – she eyed Malfoy, who was now conversing with his grandmother in French. The language rolled off his tongue fluently, as if he had been speaking it his entire life, and even an outsider such as Ginny could tell that his accent was truly natural. It was infuriating.

Less than a minute later, Coline walked away after a swift goodbye and Malfoy re-joined Ginny back at the table. He glanced at her, as if expecting her to say something.

Which she did. "It makes so much sense now."

"Does it?" He raised an eyebrow.

It did, to her.

It was no secret that the Malfoys were rich; how rich, though, was a question that no one quite knew the answer to. They had retained their wealth after the trials, and even the Ministry's weather eye had not been able to put a figure on their riches. And to top it all off, the sole heir of the Malfoy family and fortune, who had been raised to believe that power, wealth and blood purity were everything, was related by blood to not only the Blacks and Rosier, but also the ancient Lefebvre… No wonder Draco Malfoy had been such a wanker back at school. Of course, none of this made his previous behaviour forgivable - never that - but it was understandable, in a twisted sort of way.

"She is your grandmother." She stated.

"Yes," he drawled slowly.

"And you're related to the Lefebvre."

Malfoy shot her a look. "People tend to be related to their grandparents, Weasley," he sneered. "Honestly, with brains like that, it is a miracle that your family hasn't gone extinct."

"That was a weak insult," Ginny said with a snort. "Even for you. Especially for you."

"Yes well, I'm out of practice. I haven't come across you gingers in a long time."

She hummed. "You're losing your touch."

"Why, Weasley! It sounds as if you have missed my jabs."

She turned to him. "Does it?"

"I am sure it has been a while for you," He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If you want it, all you have to do is ask."

Had he just implied what she thought he had implied? Surely not. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew that the double meaning behind his words had been completely intentional. "The day _I_ ask you for it, Malfoy, will be the day hell freezes over."

He held her gaze for a lingering moment. "Pity," he said, looking away with a half-shrug, "It would have livened up this dull evening."

"You're not wrong about that." The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

His eyes snapped to hers once again, filled with surprise, as if he could never have expected that particular response from her. Truth was, she was just as surprised as him and was certain that he could glean that in her expression.

"I meant about the evening," Ginny felt the need to blurt.

"Yes." His voice was devoid of emotion.

"Not about the–"

"Of course."

A moment of silence passed. Then, they broke their eye-contact and reached out for their drinks simultaneously.

Ginny could feel the awkwardness in the air and the blush on her cheeks. Had she just sort of flirted with Draco Malfoy? No. It wasn't that. It can't have been. This was Malfoy – ex-Death Eater and arsehole extraordinaire. She would never flirt with him.

And now she would continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. She could get up and leave but that would be a cowardly move, and she was anything but that. Besides, he would probably read much more into the situation if she did that. "So," She cleared her throat and turned to him once again, "Are you staying here, then? While you're visiting."

 _Bloody hell!_ In an attempt to rid herself of the awkwardness and to leave him with no misconceptions, she had inquired about his lodgings. She would have kicked herself right then and there if she could.

"No. My business in Paris was brief." Malfoy replied. He didn't seem fazed by the question, so maybe her attempt at steering the conversation on had worked. "If it weren't for sheer rotten luck, my Lefebvre relatives wouldn't even have known that I was in the country."

"You don't seem very fond of them," she commented.

He sniffed in disdain. "I will have you know that I find them to be extremely tolerable. In small doses, administered after extended periods of absences."

Ginny laughed, thinking back to her brothers' weddings and how annoying it had been to deal with all the distant aunts and uncles and cousins. Who would have guessed that even a posh prat like Malfoy could not escape the claws of relative-related nightmarish obligations? "And what was the sheer rotten luck?"

"I accidentally ran into my grandmother at Rue du Alters," He absently ran a hand through his hair as he named a street that was the French equivalent of Diagon Alley. "She persuaded me to attend this ball before I take the portkey home later tonight."

As Ginny followed the movement of his long fingers with her eyes, she realised two things. One: she wanted to touch his blonde hair. Two: she was aware, _too_ aware, of his every movement. It was as if the seed that had been planted during their conversation had taken root, and now she could not help but imagine –

Imagine _nothing_ , she told herself firmly. This whole train of thought was absolutely ridiculous and she would not let it go any further.

"Right," she said as she sat up straighter, only to have her leg brush against his under the table. The accidental touch lasted no longer than a second but she felt a spark. For the umpteenth time that evening, Ginny found her gaze locked with Malfoy's, but neither of them broke the eye contact this time.

"I take it you shall be returning to London now that the match is over." He said slowly.

"Hmm?" She forced herself to focus on his words, "N-No. We have a couple of free days in Paris, which I am very excited about."

"Oh?" He leaned forward, making her hold her breath, which was silly seeing that his face was still at least a foot away from hers. "And why does this excite you?"

His words sent a shiver down her spine and she wondered whether he was deliberately saying things that had double meaning, or if her mind was strolling deep down in the gutter. Probably both.

"Because…" Ginny trailed off. The answer was right there in her head: she was excited at the prospect of exploring Paris because it was her first time in the city, but she could not form the words. The room felt warm and the noise of the party had faded into the background. All she could see was him – and her gaze inadvertently dropped to his lips.

He had nice lips, she mused and then berated herself for thinking so.

She looked back into his eyes and saw – Merlin! she actually _saw_ – his pupils dilate, a clear indication that he was just as affected by their conversation as she was.

Malfoy stood up, his sudden movement startling her, and slowly held out his hand. The meaning behind the gesture was clear. He had made his decision, now it was time for her to make hers. The battle raging in her mind between reason and emotion needed to be resolved. She could either throw caution to the wind or she could go find her teammates. The latter would have been the wiser choice but, whether for good or for bad, wisdom had never been her strong suit.

Ginny placed her hand in his.

He wordlessly guided her out of the ballroom and down a hallway until they reached a study room. As he swung the door shut, she glanced around, taking in the walls covered with a vast collection of books and scrolls, a massive hearth and leather armchairs. Hermione would have loved this place.

That was all the time she had for observations, for Malfoy had grabbed her by the elbows and maneuvered her until she was backed against a bookshelf.

He came to stand before her, his face only inches away. Everything was still for a moment, then slowly, almost cautiously, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. It was chaste and lasted only a few seconds before he pulled away and studied her.

He must have found whatever he was looking for in her expression, for he lowered his lips to hers again, this time kissing her properly. Ginny responded eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut and her heart hammering in her chest. She felt his hands move from her elbows to her sides, slowly moving up and down. If he was exploring, she saw no reason not to do the same. So, she placed her hands on the sides of his head and slowly trailed her fingers up into his hair.

The kiss grew more passionate as their tongues battled for dominance. She took great pleasure in making a mess of his impeccably styled hair – no doubt the git used the most expensive products on it to keep it this soft and shiny – while he grew bolder with his touches and placed his hand over her breast, caressing it through her dress.

When the need for air outgrew the desire to taste his mouth, Ginny pulled away and looked at him. His lips were smeared with her crimson lipstick, and his eyes, which were actually blue-grey rather than just grey, were brimming with a naked hunger that made her weak in the knees.

His hand moved down, sneaking through the slit of her gown until his fingers hooked into the waistband of her knickers. With a swift tug, he pulled them off. As her underwear slid off her legs and pooled at her feet, she was only glad that she had decided to wear her black lace knickers instead of the plain cotton ones. Her own desire grew more frenzied, and Ginny ran her hands down his chest until she reached the front of his trousers. She had managed to undo the button and pull the zipper down halfway when he placed a searing kiss on her lips, rendering her nearly useless to do anything else but kiss back.

Malfoy must have realised that, for he pushed his trousers and boxers down to his knees himself, then reached out and pulled open the slit of her dress. He grabbed her thighs and hoisted her up, so she could wrap her legs around his waist. And then –

" _Oh_!"

The gasped exclamation escaped her lips when their bodies joined. Her voice almost echoed in the room, making her realise that this was the first word either of them had spoken since they had walked into this study. Clouded by a silly notion that their situation demanded some further form of conversation, she placed her hands on his shoulders and breathed, "Malfoy."

Their foreheads touched, his eyes bore into hers. "Considering the position we are presently in," he said, his voice husky and strained as if keeping still took up all of his willpower, "I think you may call me Draco from now on."

And then, without waiting for her response, he started to move.

It was exquisite; there was simply no other word for it. She felt his lips on her jaw, moving down her neck, leaving behind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses. Damn, the man knew what he was doing.

Ginny felt herself losing all sense of her surroundings, of reality itself, at the sensations that coursed through her body as they moved in this sensuous dance for what felt like an eternity. And when the world exploded around her, she bit his neck hard to keep herself from screaming out; loud noises would have attracted curious souls and she wasn't quite sure if he had locked the door to the study or not.

She must have bit him too hard, for Malfoy let out a grunt of pain – or perhaps, it was pleasure – as he shuddered and stilled. They remained motionless for a while, trying to catch their breath while their faces remained buried in each other's necks.

Then, Ginny unfurled her legs and placed her feet on the ground. Moving past him wordlessly, she readjusted the skirts of her gown and observed her reflection in the mirror above the hearth. Strands of her auburn hair, which she had tied into a neat bun before coming to the ball, had come loose. As she went about re-pinning those, she observed him from the corner of her eyes. He had been quick to fix his clothes and was vanishing the lipstick marks on his face with a wordless swish of his wand.

She turned to face him just as he did the same, his sharp eyes catching hers, though the silence continued to linger between them. It wasn't awkward, not really, it was just odd. No doubt the turn of events had been as unexpected for him as they had been for her.

And then, a muffled voice from outside the door caught their attention. "… she be?" Abigail Girffiths was saying. "Oi Ginny! Where have you gone off to?"

Dear Merlin. The last thing Ginny wanted was to get caught with Malfoy by her teammate who, while was a dear friend, had a habit of blurting out stuff in front of the press (Abigail had once blabbed an embarrassing story of Harry walking into the Harpies locker room while the girls had been changing – he'd only come to congratulate Ginny on the win and couldn't have known that they were indecent – and Rita Skeeter had had a field day with that. The words "the Boy Who Lived", "using his celebrity", and "orgies" had been used in the same sentence).

Hoping to avoid an encounter that would certainly lead to a lot of questions, Ginny hurried over to the door and wrenched it open.

Abigail stood only a few feet away and jumped in surprise. "Oh, there you are!" She exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you."

"I… I was looking for the loo and got lost," Ginny lied smoothly, glad that she didn't sound too winded. From the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy stand still exactly where he was, which mercifully happened to on the side so no one who wasn't in the room would be able to see him.

"Well, come on then! The Daily Prophet wants a photo of the team." Abigail grasped her wrist and tugged at it, pulling her out into the hallway. "I reckon we head back after that. Sleep early so we can go see the Eiffel Tower first thing in the morning. I've heard the queues are a nightmare."

"Sounds like a plan," Ginny agreed, allowing her friend to lead her back towards the ballroom.

It felt odd to leave without a word to him but judging by the silence they had been sharing before getting interrupted, it was unlikely either of them would have spoken up. At least not for a bit. But as she reached the end of the hallway, Ginny could not help but glance back. She caught a fleeting glimpse of Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway of the study, looking like a picture of elegance, before she turned round the corner and found herself back in the midst of the party.

 **xx**

For the life of her, Ginny Weasley did not know how this happened.

She was leaning against the railing of the tiny balcony of her hotel room in Paris, watching the sun rise in the distance, and thinking of the events of last night.

She had shagged Draco Malfoy. She had shagged him in the study room of a chateau at a party hosted by the highest of the French wizarding elites, who also happened to be his relatives. Well, the last part really didn't matter, nor did the middle one. The only part she kept on thinking of again and again was the Draco Malfoy part.

There was no regret; she hadn't hated his company, and she had _especially_ enjoyed the sex. There was only mild disbelief that she had done it wilfully, for that is what had happened. She hadn't been drunk, it wasn't the Imperius Curse and, even though she had toyed with the idea briefly, she knew that the food and drink hadn't been laced with love potion. Whatever had happened last night had been an entirely conscious decision on her part, and on his.

It was just… bizarre.

She was interrupted out of her thoughts by a majestic eagle owl swooping down from the sky above. It dropped a small parcel into her hands, snapped its beak at her in an almost patronising manner and then flew away with a swish of its wings.

Ginny eyed the small ribbon-tied cardboard box in her hands; there was no tag or sender's name on it. Curious, she opened it and her eyes widened in surprise. She knew now for certain that it was from Draco Malfoy – only he would have an owl that was such a git! – for inside the box was her lacy black underwear. She hadn't had a chance to put it back on before they had been interrupted last night. _Sweet Merlin!_ He had actually kept her knickers?! That creepy bastard.

There was also a folded note inside the box, written in neat, slanted writing on a square piece of parchment. It was short and very much to the point:

 _Ginevra,  
It was an absolute __pleasure_ _getting acquainted with you.  
D.M._

Ginny couldn't help it, she laughed. Draco Malfoy was a creepy bastard alright, but he was a bastard with style.

* * *

 **Translations:**

Il s'agit d'une surprise inattendue! ( _This is an unexpected surprise!)  
_ Tante Coline sera heureux de voir que vous êtes ici, mon ami . _(Aunt Coline will be happy to see you here, my friend.)  
_ Il était difficile de refuser son invitation. _(It was difficult to refuse her invitation.)  
_ Je suppose que vous êtes montrant vos invités autour. _(I guess you're showing your guests around.)  
_ Du bon côté, je n'aurai pas à soudoyer les gens pour vous parler. _(On the bright side, I will not have to bribe people to talk to you.)_

* * *

 **This could just stand alone as a one-shot or I can turn it into a multi-chapter story, but that depends on the response I get. So please do let me know if you want to see this continued or not.**

 **Also, I wasn't quite sure about the rating of this story. Even though there is sex in it, I've tried not to make it too explicit. I'm rating this story as T, but if you think that I should up it, do let me know and I will do so.**

 **Thank you for reading the story. Reviews will be greatly appreciated!  
** **Cheers x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone! Thank you so much to all those who read my story, and an extra thanks to those who reviewed. I have decided to continue on with this story, and here is the next instalment. I hope you all enjoy it!**

 **Oh, and to Anon's question:** This story is compatible with both books and the movies. In some places I will maybe borrow specific ideas/scenarios from one universe, but I will let you all know whenever I do. For example, just to make life easier for myself, I have decided that the costumes and clothing the characters will wear in this story is like in the movies, rather than the books. I hope that's okay, and if not, you can totally imagine them wearing whatever you want. The story is more than the clothes, after all!

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 2**

* * *

Ginny Weasley realised that she had no one to talk to.

It was a sad realisation, made sadder by the fact that she was always surrounded by friends and family. But Draco Malfoy was a topic she wouldn't dare broach with them.

Her parents didn't like the Malfoys very much, with good reason. Ron would throw a massive fit. Hermione had been bullied by the prat for years, literally tortured in his manor by his maniac Death Eater aunt. And she couldn't tell her ex-boyfriend Harry that she had shagged his old nemesis.

She supposed she could talk to Luna, but her quirky magizoologist friend was off somewhere in the wilderness of South America looking for _blorals_ – which were apparently short-tempered badger like creatures that had the ability to heal minor cuts by scratching at them. Ginny wasn't sure how that worked and, if she was being honest with herself, wasn't keen on ever finding out.

The point was that some well-meant friendly advice pertaining to Draco Malfoy would have been welcome. Still, as it was, she wasn't lost without it. She was perfectly capable of handling the blonde all by herself. And it's not as if she was getting in too deep…

… _Right?_

 **xx**

The sky was clouded, the wind merciless and the rain coming down in light showers. That did not stop the Harpies practice session, much to the dismay of most of the team members.

They shouldn't be complaining, Ginny mused as she practiced various formations with her fellow chasers. They had returned from their mini-vacation from Paris only a week ago. Granted, the vacation had come after a match, which had been preceded by dozens of practices –

She paused her train of thought as she caught the Quaffle, and zoomed across the pitch towards the rings, her robes flapping wildly and her Firebolt, which she had acquired after the broom company had sponsored their team last year, vibrating pleasantly beneath her. Halfway through, she pulled her broomstick to an abrupt halt and tossed the red ball to the next chaser; they were only practicing manoeuvres, not scoring.

While she was not particularly pleased about having to practice in such weather, she understood the necessity of it. In exactly three weeks, the Holyhead Harpies were slated to play their first match of the League against Puddlemere United. Winning it would be great for the team's morale and, more importantly, for the points table.

An hour of practicing the Porskoff Ploy later, even Ginny's professionalism was gone. She was drenched to the bone, maybe even to the marrow, and wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up on the sofa and have her mum make her some hot chocolate. Which is why when the coach blew the whistle signalling the end of training, she was quick to land on the ground. With a flick of her wand, she sent her broom flying to the broom shed and marched towards the pavilion, a building adjoining the pitch that served as the headquarters of Holyhead Harpies.

As she neared the entrance, she saw two figures standing beneath the protruding roof, safe from the pouring rain and deep in conversation. One of them was Gwenog Jones and the other was none other than Draco Malfoy.

The blonde man's presence caught her off guard. She could think of no reason why he would be present at the practice of the Holyhead Harpies. Had he come to meet her after what had happened between the two of them back in Paris? If he had then he'd be getting a swift kick in the balls for his stalkerish behaviour.

"Weasley," Gwenog said when she noticed her. "You remember Draco Malfoy?"

" _Vividly_ ," Ginny held out a dripping, smudged hand towards the blonde, then pulled it back sheepishly. "Best not shake that."

"Ginevra," He nodded in greeting, his eyes boring into hers. "You look positively _wet_ this afternoon."

"Gee, I hadn't noticed," She muttered.

"As I was saying," Gwenog said, resuming whatever conversation she had been having with the man before she had arrived. "I am sorry I couldn't join you at the meeting."

"Understandable," Malfoy turned his attention to her. "Your practice sessions must take precedence over everything else, especially this close to the League Cup."

"Indeed. I hope our executives didn't bore you much."

"I endured," He smirked. "But I wanted to personally thank you for taking part in this project. My assistant will send you a copy of our report, so you know what an impact you've had."

Ginny listened to their conversation, bewildered. She could think of no venture that the Harpies had been a part of, least of all one that had anything to do with the Malfoys. "What are we talking about?" she asked, finding it easier to simply demand answers than to think of the countless probabilities.

"Oh, don't you know?" Gwenog asked, "Serenity Initiative is Mr. Malfoy's organization."

She blinked in surprise. When the Holyhead Harpies executives had proposed playing a friendly match for charity to the team, Ginny had been one of the first ones to agree. She had looked up Serenity Initiative and was quite impressed with the work they had done in providing support, counselling and rehabilitation to the witches and wizards affected by the Dark Arts. The revelation that it belonged to the Malfoys, the very family who had been among the most enthusiastic practitioners of dark magic, was startling.

So much so, that it took Ginny a moment to realise that Gwenog had taken her leave, and that she was now standing alone with Malfoy. "You arranged our match against the Géants," She stated. It wasn't a question; she just wanted to break the silence to snap herself out of shock.

"Yes." Malfoy said, sounding mildly amused.

"I have questions."

"Of course."

She looked down, wondering where to begin, when she noticed the puddle that had formed around her feet. Merlin! She had completely forgotten that she was soaked. No doubt she would catch a cold if she stayed like this, and getting sick right before Quidditch season was the last thing she wanted. "I need a shower."

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Is that an invitation?" he asked. "I have a meeting in an hour, but I am sure we ca–"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You step anywhere near the locker rooms and you will have bats flying out of your nostrils for a week, Malfoy," She threatened, thinking back to the time when she had used her infamous bat bogey hex on him in her fourth year. It was a good memory. "Do you understand?"

Malfoy clamped his mouth shut, but his lips twitched as if he was holding back a grin. Prat.

"Wait here," She started to move past him.

"You make the mistake of thinking I am at your beck and call, Ginevra," Now he sounded irritated; clearly he wasn't used to receiving commands from others. "I am indeed expected elsewhere in an hour and I have better things to do than–"

"Ten minutes!" She promised, putting an end to the tirade that he was launching into, and hurried over to the changing rooms.

In the end, it took her almost fifteen minutes to shower, dry her hair with a spell, get dressed, grab her canvas bag from her locker and run back to the entrance of the pavilion, only to find that he was no longer there. Of course, he would leave, that busy-bee of an arse. What was the point of having such a fine table etiquette at ridiculous balls when he didn't have the basic manners in day to day life? Just as she was thinking of sending him a howler containing every variation of the word 'wanker', she spotted him on the edge of the pitch, staring off into the clouded sky. Nevermind, then.

Ginny walked over to him, noting with some relief that it was no longer raining, and allowed her gaze to fall on his face. He was quite handsome, what with that perfectly crafted jawline and those sharp eyes; she wondered why she had never noticed it before.

"Taking your unschooled background into account, I should hardly find your tardiness surprising," Malfoy said, not even gracing her with a glance. "I do, however, find it irritating."

Oh, right. That's why. Every time he opened his mouth, he spewed patronising shite that was insulting to her or the people she cared about. That left little room for admiration. "I find your arseholey behaviour just as irritating," She said sweetly. "So, I guess we're even."

He turned to her then. "' _Arseholey_ ' isn't a word."

"It is now."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then he held out his arm. "Shall we?"

And so, less than ten minutes later, she found herself sitting in a small bistro in the wizarding district of Holyhead, eating sticky toffee pudding. She made a mental note to bring Ron here someday, he'd love it.

Malfoy sipped his tea and stared out the window at the newsstand across the narrow street, where an enlarged front page of Daily Prophet read: _'Deal with the Dementors: Ministry signs new contract with Azkaban guards'_. A small, barely noticeable frown touched his face, then he blinked once and turned his attention to her. "So," he said, "You had questions."

"You own Serenity Initiative?" Ginny asked. There was no point in dallying around the topic, and she was curious to know more.

"Serenity is a charity organisation not a business, so it can't quite be owned. It is run."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his attempt to act all mature and technical. Prat. "And you run it?"

"I have served as its chief executive for almost a year now," Malfoy told her, "The position was held by my mother prior to that. She is the one who set up the organisation five years ago."

That was news to her. Harry had always said that Narcissa Malfoy had defied Voldemort in the end, though that defiance had not come from a place of heroism, but rather from her desire to find her son. "I wasn't aware that you and your family were so keen to help troubled witches and wizards," Ginny stated bluntly. "Have you finally grown a heart?"

"Perhaps." He did not seem offended at her words. "Or maybe I am keen to help troubled witches and wizards because it makes me look good."

She stilled at that. "Is that so?"

His gaze was contemplative, as if he was wondering how to respond to that, then he clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. "It is no secret that the Malfoy name is no longer what it once was." He said. "If overseeing a charity is going to help amend the notorious image of my family, then that is what I will do."

"You always were a self-serving bastard, weren't you?"

"Never pretended to be anything else," He replied instantly, his lips quirking into a small smirk.

That was true, she supposed. It was disturbing, and almost admirable in some twisted way, that Malfoy was upfront about his intentions. But it left her wondering whether it was right to respect the charity, or even support it, knowing that though many witches and wizards will find much-needed help in coping with their demons, the welfare work would ultimately serve the Malfoy propaganda.

"Have I tainted your opinion of Serenity?" Malfoy asked. It alarmed her that he was able to tell what she was thinking. Was she that transparent? "Apologies." He was not sorry at all, and they both knew it.

"So, this is your job then – to help and hug the weak of our society?" She asked. The moral dilemma of supporting Serenity was not one she would be able to solve over a single pudding, so it was best to move the conversation on. A bit.

"Jobs are for peasants, Ginevra," he sneered.

" _How_ are you able to walk through doorways with that big head of yours?"

"Quite comfortably, actually."

Malfoy was enjoying this conversation, that much was obvious, and she was once again torn between wanting to hex him and laugh with him. "Obnoxious git," She muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

"Your words wound me."

"Oh, I'm sure they do, Draco." Her use of his given name startled her, and she was surprised, almost pleasantly so, at how easily it had rolled off her tongue. Ginny forced her alarm away; he had permitted her to address him so, hadn't he, and he had been using her first name all day without even asking for her say-so. Though she did reckon that shagging against a bookshelf justified a few things like that.

She looked up at him, only to realise that he had been studying her, his gaze lingering on her lips. A wave of heat washed over her as she recalled what his kisses had felt like.

It was Malfoy who broke their eye contact and glanced down at his watch. "I'm afraid I must leave," He said. "I have a meeting. I hope I've answered your questions."

"Not all of them. You dallied around my question about your work."

"Only because you didn't ask me properly," Malfoy pointed out. He paused for a moment, as if he was debating something in his mind, then said, "Either way, that will not do. Perhaps we can continue this conversation over dinner on Friday night?"

Ginny looked at him. "Are you asking me out on a date, Draco Malfoy?"

His stormy gaze bore into hers. "I thought it was obvious that I am, Ginevra Weasley," he said. "Are you certain you weren't born with a rock inside of your head instead of a brain?"

"And they said romance is dead," she muttered sarcastically.

He glanced at his watch once again, then stood up. "Dinner. Friday. Are you interested or not?"

Ginny hesitated. Shagging Malfoy covertly in a foreign country was one thing but to go out on a date with him was something else entirely. It was serious. It was risky… but then again, she hadn't been a Gryffindor for nothing. "I am," she told him.

Malfoy nodded, then slipped his coat on in one swift, graceful move. Git. "I shall make the reservations and send word to you," he said. "Goodbye, Ginevra."

As Ginny watched him head towards the apparition point through the shop window, she couldn't help but wonder what the consequences of her decision would be, or if there would be any at all. It was entirely possible that the date would go horribly wrong, and she would never see him again. Or the date would go well and then… Either way, she couldn't change her decision now – truth was, she didn't want to – and pondering over it would do no good.

So, she did the only thing she could: she focused on enjoying her pudding.

 **xx**

Her first date with Draco – _blimey_ , had he become 'Draco' in her thoughts already? – went well.

He had taken her to _La Nuit,_ a posh restaurant located on a seventh-floor terrace in Diagon Alley, that was notorious for always being fully booked. Ron had tried to bring Hermione here for weeks before he gave up and proposed to her at a romantic little picnic in the park. Ginny was surprised Draco managed to get a table, that too at only a few days' notice.

The terrace was much smaller than she had expected, seating no more than thirty people; no wonder the reservation queues were a nightmare. A dozen or so lanterns floated in the air, illuminating the place with warm light, and white petals soared above their heads, dancing to the tunes of the four-string orchestra that was seated in one corner, playing slow, melodious songs. All in all, it was quite an intimate setting and she liked it.

She let Draco order the wine and turned her attention to the menu before her, eyes nearly bulging at the prices, wondering why in the name of Merlin's soggy pants did these fancy restaurants name their dishes using such complicated words. Why did it have to be 'langoustine', why not just say 'lobster'? She opted for a simple chicken cordon bleu with mushroom sauce. Draco ordered taglierini with some rare black truffles from the Mediterranean – because _of course_ he would. Tosser.

Once the orders were done, Draco eyed her. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice soft.

The straightforward compliment caught her off-guard. Knowing him, she was expecting something along the lines of 'you don't look completely destitute today'. But she'd be lying if she said that his words didn't please her. It had been a while since she had gone out on a date and she wanted to look pretty, not for him – not entirely – but for herself. She had worn her midnight blue dress that fell to her knees, and had spent quite a while knotting her auburn hair into a messy updo.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Ginny said. It was true. He looked as impeccable as ever in a navy grey suit that made his blonde hair stand out. Come to think of it, apart from the Slytherin Quidditch robes and Hogwarts uniform, she didn't think she had ever seen Draco dressed in anything that could be qualified as casual. She wouldn't be surprised if she found out that the man went to bed dressed in his formal robes with a boutineer pinned to his lapel.

They talked about random, unimportant things until the food arrived. After that the conversation became somewhat stilted; he wouldn't talk with his mouth full, and she was simply too busy enjoying the food to talk.

Halfway through the meal, she spoke up. "You said you took over Serenity a year ago. What were you doing before that?"

"Running the Malfoy Corporation," Draco replied. "We have investments in various industries, both in the wizarding and the muggle–"

" _Muggle_?" Ginny asked in disbelief. There had always been rumours that a chunk of Malfoys' fortune came from the non-magical world, but she had never believed those. The idea that a family of blood purists would do business with muggles, the very people they thought of as vermin, was preposterous.

"Yes," Draco said shortly. He seemed slightly defensive, as if he was waiting for her to bring up his family's past affiliations with the Dark Arts.

She didn't. Instead, she changed the topic of their conversation. "You know, I've noticed that you haven't insulted me once this evening," she pointed out. "Are you trying to woo me with your gentlemanly charade, Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course," His defensive demeanour dropped instantly, only to be replaced with a playful tone. "I plan on having my way with you later tonight."

 _Merlin_. Her cheeks warmed at his words and she took a sip of her wine, flustered. "And what makes you think I'll let you?"

Draco reached across the table to brush his fingertips on the back of her hand. The touch was light, barely there, and she felt a shiver travel down her spine. Something on her face must have shown, for he smirked. " _Intuition_."

"I hate to burst your bubble, Malfoy," She pulled her hand away, "but you're not as good as you think you are."

"No," He nodded in agreement. "I'm better."

Sweet Merlin! She was on a date with a narcissist. Now, she couldn't let him have his way with her, as he so delicately put it, out of spite – not that she was thinking of letting it happen previously, mind. It was her moral obligation to knock him down a peg or two. Or twenty. "I always knew you were a smug bastard," she told him, "Now you're delusional as well."

"' _Delusional'_ " Draco repeated. "I'm impressed, Ginevra. I didn't think your tiny brain was capable of producing words longer than two syllables."

Ginny shot him a scathing look. "You're a shit wooer, Malfoy."

His amusement bubbled out of him in the form of a short laugh. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sound, but she noticed that it seemed slightly off. Either Draco wasn't used to laughing often, or she wasn't used to hearing him do so. The latter. Definitely the latter. Still, to see him grin so carelessly for the first time filled her with an odd sense of accomplishment, as if she had peeled off a layer of the cool, composed mask that he always had on.

In the end, he did not have his way with her and she didn't let him. That didn't mean that liberties were not taken. After dinner, he walked her to the narrow alley that was one of the designated apparition points in Diagon Alley, and he grabbed her by the waist before she could leave and placed a fiery kiss on her lips. They stood there for what felt like ages, her hands holding onto his face while his were planted firmly on her back, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. Her lips were still tingling from his touch when she had arrived back at the Burrow.

Ginny had moved back to her childhood home after her break-up with Harry – he, ever the noble hero, had offered to let her keep the flat, but she didn't want to live in a place that held so many memories of their relationship. The move back to Burrow was intended to be a temporary setup, but her parents convinced her to stay. She reckoned that they found the lack of crowd depressing, seeing as how all her brothers now had places of their own. And truth be told, she loved living there with her mum and dad.

"You're seeing someone, aren't you?" Molly Weasley had asked the moment she had stepped into the living room.

Ginny suppressed a groan and looked at her mother, who was knitting by the fire. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

Her mother smiled at her, no doubt glad that she was finally paying some attention to her love life as well, something that was apparently a great cause of concern. "Well, who is he, dear?"

"Mum, please." Ginny said, her tone making it clear that she didn't want to talk about it. She couldn't just inform her mother that she had just had dinner and a good snog with Draco Malfoy. "If and when there is something to tell you, I will. Until then, just don't ask questions."

Later that night, as she lay in her bed, she couldn't help but wonder if she had done the right thing. Nothing could possibly come of a relationship – wrong word. It wasn't a relationship, not yet – with Draco. Her family would never approve of him, her friends hated him, and he wasn't too fond of any of them either. If she was being honest with herself, she was surprised that he was behaving somewhat decently towards her... and she had no idea why. And then there was the past, with the bullying and the Dark Arts and him being a Death Eater, not to mention that it had been his evil father who had slipped her Tom Riddle's diary that had nearly killed her.

With so much history between them, was it wise to see him? No. Should she end it before she got too entangled in whatever game this was? Yes. Would she? That was a whole other question.

Truth was, she was enjoying herself. There was an inexplicable attraction, a sense of curiosity, that pulled her towards him. And it wasn't that she was playing this game blind. She was all too aware of Draco's flaws and of how incompatible they were. She wasn't stupidly infatuated with him like she had once been with Harry, and it sure as hell wasn't anything as serious as love; she doubted she even felt anything too serious towards him. And yet, he intrigued her, made her reckless, breathless…

Would it be so bad if she followed the pull with her eyes open? Maybe not, she told herself.

And so, when he sent her an owl asking if she would like to go out with him again, she replied with a yes.

 **xx**

They went to a sushi bar in Horizont Alley, a cosy place run by a bunch of now free house-elves. Having been to countless sushi places in muggle London with Harry – it had been one of his favourite foods, she'd discovered – Ginny was confident in her knowledge of the menu and ordered herself some prawn nigiri.

It wasn't until after the food had magically appeared at their table that she realised that Draco was looking at her, a grimace fixed on his face. "What?" she asked.

"I won't be kissing you tonight," he told her.

"Why?" Ginny frowned, not expecting those words to be their conversation opener that evening.

"Because you ordered prawns and I am allergic. Violently so." He explained. "I'm afraid I can't take the risk."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd–" _I'd have ordered something else,_ she was about to say, but that would mean admitting that she wanted him to kiss her. That was not going to happen. So, hoping to cover her near slip-up, she went on, "I didn't know allergies could be that bad."

It was a horrible cover up and judging by the amused expression on his face, he had guessed the words she had not uttered. Mercifully, he didn't tease her about it. "The last time I accidentally tasted prawns, they had to take me to St. Mungo's. I'd very much prefer to avoid an overnight stay at the hospital."

If it was that bad then it would be best if they didn't kiss, which was disappointing, really. As she watched him get started on his sashimi, long fingers working the chopsticks with ease, she thought she would have liked a nice snog at the end of the evening. Still, she wasn't some horny teenager and it wasn't the end of the world.

Sometime through the meal, she realised that she was starting to learn things about him, like the fact that he was trying to decipher an original 13th century scroll of folk tales written in Celtic runes during his free time. His best friend was Blaise Zabini, his old Slytherin housemate, who now worked as a Healer at St. Mungo's and had an annoying habit of barging into his study and drinking his expensive firewhiskey. He mentioned his mother only in passing, but she gathered that Narcissa Malfoy was currently not in the country. The insights into his life, albeit little, were welcome. They humanized him, forcing her to see him as something more than just a posh prat – which, let's face it, he still was a lot of the time.

He had pecked her cheek that night, then lowered his lips to her neck and nipped at the skin, making her gasp in surprise. "That's for taking kissing off the table," he told her, his voice low.

"I should inform you that I rubbed some prawns all over my neck earlier," she murmured playfully.

Draco raised his head so he could look into her eyes. "Who'd have thought that you were capable of cruelty, Ginevra?"

"Ginny." She corrected. "Everybody calls me Ginny."

"So?" He seemed mildly confused.

"Honestly, Draco," She couldn't help but say, "You have no right to insult me ever again. You've got less going on upstairs than a single storey house!"

He shot her a scathing look. "You must be really proud of yourself for landing that one insult."

"A little bit," She admitted smugly. "And you should call me Ginny from now on."

"Absolutely not," Draco scoffed. "You have a perfectly adequate name and yet you allow everyone to address you with that horrid bastardization of it for reasons that are beyond me. Well, I shall have no part in it."

In all her life she had never met a single normal person who would use the word ' _bastardization'_ so casually. But then again, as she was beginning to realise, Draco Malfoy was anything but normal. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad but, with the way things were going, she would find out soon enough.

"Now, then," Draco stepped away from her, "Goodnight, _Ginevra_ ," he uttered her name with emphasis, and then disapparated, leaving her speechless.

The ponced-up prat.

 **xx**

It was an hour or two after midnight.

Ginny slipped out of the bed and pulled on her knickers, careful not to wake the naked blonde man next to her. Guided by the moonlight that was streaming in through a small gap in the window drapes, she trotted over to the sofa, the dark wooden floor cool beneath her feet, and picked up his white shirt from where it was slung over the armrest. As she put on the item of clothing, her eyes wandered around the bedroom.

Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

The room was huge, with intricate, black boiserie on the walls and an antique gold chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. A triptych of black 'n white photographs depicting a vineyard hung above the headboard of the large bed, that was covered with lots of plush pillows and bedding of warm beige colour. And a naked Draco, of course, but she was ignoring that particular decorative item for now. The time to observe him would come later…

She made her way over to a set of double doors, which she presumed led to the bathroom, and slid them open. Dim lights flickered on in the brackets of their own accord and she stilled, her eyes wide. His closet was twice the size of her bedroom. Countless robes and suits hung neatly, arranged according to colour, while the lower shelves held his shoes, all polished spotless.

There was another set of doors to her right and she started towards them. If it turned out to be a room for his watches or ties, she was going to leave, she decided. Thankfully, it turned out to be the bathroom, which was just as huge and lavish because _of course_ it would be. As she sat down on the toilet, watching the engraved snake on the opposite wall transform into a dragon and then back again, it finally hit her: She was peeing in Draco Malfoy's bathroom.

 _Merlin! How_ had that happened?

It certainly wasn't something she had expected when she had met him for their third date.

They had gone to an Italian café of her choosing in muggle London. If Draco had a problem with the place, or the people there, he kept it to himself and acted like his usual snobbishly charming self. They exchanged witty banter over the meal, which he did enjoy more than he let on; he'd called his risotto "just acceptable" but was quick to move his plate out of her reach when she said she wanted a bite.

And then Ginny unknowingly committed a sin: she paid the bill while he had slipped off to the loo. Her treat, she'd told him.

She didn't realise that it was an issue at first, but as they wandered aimlessly through the quirky streets of Camden Town, she noticed that he was giving her the cold shoulder. A little bit of prodding and a couple of rather rude insults later, she was able to join the dots. "You're joking, right?" She asked incredulously. "So what if I paid the bill?"

"It wasn't yours to pay," Draco sniffed in disdain.

"Of course," Ginny rolled her eyes. "I forgot that there's a law that states that dinner bills have to be paid by the one who is blessed with ' _the cock_ '."

He didn't reply. She was getting the silent treatment. _Lovely._

Reaching out, Ginny grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. "Calm your tits, Malfoy," she said. "It was only thirty quid." She wondered for a brief moment if he understood muggle currency – Hermione had given her detailed lessons a long time ago, delving into the history of the pound until Harry had come to her rescue – but then she realised that he did business in the muggle world, so he probably knew. Either way, the currency didn't matter. His irrational attitude did.

Draco shrugged his arm away from her grip. "Probably cost your family a month's worth of rations," he muttered.

"Listen to me, you condescending arsehole," she hissed, her temper flaring. "I am perfectly capable of affordi–"

"It's not about that!" Draco snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "It's the ideals with which I was raised. When a man takes a lady out, he foots the bill." He looked away with a scoff. "Of course, calling you a lady is quite a bit of a stretch."

Ginny stared at him, dumbfounded, as she realised that he was genuinely trying to be chivalrous rather than patronising, and had went about expressing his irritation at his failure in a typical Malfoy manner. It was almost oddly sweet, though she would never admit it out loud.

He must have perceived her silence wrong, for he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I-If you wish to pay…" He began as he turned to her, his fingers twitching at his sides, "Just let me know in advance. Alright?"

'So he could prepare himself' – The implied meaning behind his words hung in the air between them. Ginny hastily nodded. _Sweet Merlin_! The man belonged in a museum, or in the 17th century, though they'd have hanged him within a week for throwing shade at people of import.

Argument resolved, they resumed their exploration of London's street-art filled district on much friendlier terms. Of course, she knew she had to tease Draco about this. She was the sister of Fred and George Weasley, and they would be mad at her – one on earth and the other from heavens above – if she let an opportunity like this slip away.

So, as they were about to walk into a shop selling something called 'retro collectibles', Ginny placed her hand on the door and then jumped back onto the sidewalk with a horrified gasp. "Oh, I am so sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to try and open the door by myself!" She said. "You should open the door. I don't ever want to go against your gentlemanly training, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's eyes widened dramatically, causing her to giggle. "Shut up," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning pink from embarrassment.

"As my man commands," She said with mock subservience.

He growled – Merlin! He _actually_ growled – and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against his hard body. He pressed his lips to hers in a demanding kiss that nearly made her weak in the knees. Any amusement she felt was gone within seconds, replaced by a wave of heat that travelled through her veins and seeped into her bones.

Draco broke the kiss after a short while, and Ginny only had a chance to blink up owlishly at him when everything went dark and the air squeezed her from all sides – and then, she was no longer standing on a sidewalk in London, but rather on a gravel pathway that led to a huge manor.

The Malfoy Manor.

She had heard stories of this place, of how it had served as the headquarters of the Death Eaters, how Voldemort himself resided here for almost a year. And of course, Harry, Ron and Hermione had told her all about the time when snatchers had captured them and brought them here.

The building before her was grand and daunting, and yet the tall hedges surrounding it were laden with little blue blossoms and the air was alive with the chirping of countless birds that lived in the surrounding woods. She felt Draco take hold of her hand, fingers intertwining, and then the two of them started towards the manor. He flicked his wand and the tall iron gates slid open. As they walked through them, Ginny felt a whip of cool air, a momentary feeling that she had been doused in icy water, that caused her to gasp.

"Wards," Draco explained.

As he led her in to the foyer, she could practically hear Ron describe it to her – _"There was a huge staircase that led up to this massive hall, and they were all waiting there: those blonde gits and Bellatrix. They wanted Malfoy to identify Harry, so they could call You-Know-Who, y'know? And then Bellatrix hurt Hermione. We could hear her screams down in the cellar. I thought I'd lose her, Ginny. I was going mad with worry for her."_ – and for the first time, she felt truly horrified of the place, of the horrors that the Malfoys had committed in the name of their Dark Lord.

Her thoughts must have reflected on her face because Draco stepped in front of her, blocking the view of the staircase, his face impassive. "Do you want to leave?" he asked in a low voice.

This was it, her mind supplied. A moment, a chance, a choice to turn away, to return to her life and to leave whatever this was behind. And yet, as she stared into his eyes, she thought of the Draco she had encountered in Paris and the one she had spent some time with since then.

There was no doubt in her mind that he belonged to a family that had served Voldemort in hope of gaining power and glory. Draco himself had shared those beliefs, probably still did. He had made many wrong decisions, said and done things to hurt others, had most probably dabbled in the Dark Arts himself. But If he had been completely evil, his deeds unforgiveable, then Harry would never have spoken for him during the trials and the new Wizengamot would have thrown him in Azkaban, like they did countless other Death Eaters.

Draco Malfoy was not irredeemable. And Ginny Weasley was no coward.

So, she raised an eyebrow and put on a smirk. "Why, are you nervous?" She asked teasingly.

"You wish," He replied, his shoulders sagging imperceptibly in what she thought was relief, and started leading her up.

She would have studied the interiors, she even wanted to, but he had pulled her into a searing kiss halfway up the stairs and her surroundings hardly mattered anymore.

By the time they had stumbled into his bedroom, which happened to be up another storey, her hair had come undone from the braid and she was clinging to him, to his mouth, like a drowning man would to his float. And then, as they fervently ripped off the clothes from each other's bodies, lips exploring heated skins, everything in the world - the past, the present, the future - anything that was not them ceased to exist...

So, that is why Ginny Weasley was peeing in Draco Malfoy's bathroom.

Finishing her business in there, she made her way to the bed, eyeing the blonde man. The moonlight streaming in was dim, but it was enough. Draco lay on his stomach with the sheets pooled around his waist. He seemed peaceful in his sleep, younger too – which was an odd thing, seeing that he was only twenty-four years old.

He had quite a collection of scars, she noted as she silently slipped onto the bed. She had frozen up when she had first taken his shirt off, questions forming on her lips, but Draco had made an impatient sound in the back of his throat that made it clear that neither her observing gaze nor any interrogation would be appreciated. And then he had done something with his fingers that had taken her mind off the marks on his body altogether.

Now, though, she could observe.

He had an ugly knotted scar on his leg that ran from his mid-thigh to just below his knee. There was a thin line, almost six inches long, on his left shoulder blade, as if someone had slashed him with a sword. But what stood out was a circular mark on his lower back. The size of her fist, it looked as if the skin there had been flayed, imbued with some inexplicable silver-grey ink, regrown and then burnt again. While his other scars were not much visible even on his pale skin, this one came across as an ugly and cruel mutilation.

She wanted to touch it but was almost afraid that she would hurt him; it seemed like a magical injury. So, instead, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the thin scar on his shoulder.

Draco stirred and turned his head towards her, his eyes flitting open lazily. "That's my shirt," he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

"I think it suits me better," she said lightly.

"You wish." He rolled onto his side so he lay facing her. Upon realising that her fingers were still resting on the scar on his back, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Feeling curious, are we?"

"How?" She asked softly.

His eyes met hers and for a moment it felt like he would rebuff her query, but then he said: "You're too overdressed. I'm not answering any questions until that is remedied."

Ginny shot him a look. Then, she unbuttoned the shirt without breaking eye contact and tossed it somewhere over her shoulder. She congratulated herself on doing the task so boldly, but she also knew that her cheeks resembled a tomato, so there was no real reason to celebrate. Settling down next to him, her face inches from his, she waited for him to speak.

She didn't have to wait long. "Potter," Draco admitted tiredly, letting the name hang in the air between them. "Sixth year. We had a fight in the bathroom."

That surprised her. She recalled sitting in the common room with Ron and Hermione when Harry had stumbled in, shaken beyond belief at what he had accidentally done. She remembered encouraging him to get rid of the Half Blood Prince's book.

A soft touch below over her ribs caused her to snap out of her thoughts. Draco was touching _her_ scar now, a two-inch long gash. "Sixth year. My sixth year," she told him before he could even ask. "I was putting up some messages for Dumbledore's Army when I thought I heard the Carrows. I ran and crashed into this suit of armour. We were running low on dittany in the Room of Requirement, otherwise I'd have healed it."

He hummed, his fingers running over the fine line. "You were brave, beyond the point of stupidity."

"We had to be," She told him. "It was the right thing to do."

"Perhaps."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at his dubious tone. "Do you not think so?"

"I'm not discussing politics with you, Ginevra," he said firmly.

She decided to let it pass, for now. Slowly, almost lazily, she started to run her hands over his back, feeling his muscles. He was quite fit, but less so than Harry, whose body had become quite defined during his Auror training. Feeling silly for comparing the two men, she scooted slightly closer to Draco and pecked his lips, just as her fingertips inadvertently brushed against the edge of the burn scar on his back.

Quick as lightning, Draco grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. He didn't seem angry or hurt, but she could not read his expression. "Did no one ever tell you, Ginevra," he asked coolly, "That curiosity killed the cat?"

"Did no one tell you, Draco, that satisfaction brought it back?" She retorted.

His lips twitched and then he moved so that he was hovering above her. Dipping his head down, he placed a kiss on her lips while his hand made its way over to her breast. "Satisfaction, huh?" his warm breath washed over her skin, causing her breath to hitch. "That can be arranged."

Heat pooled in her abdomen, and she placed her hand over the curve of his hip, nails digging into his flesh to urge him on. There was a sharp ripping sound in the air, and she realised with a jolt that he had torn off her knickers. Git! It was one of her favourite pairs. How dare he –

She lost her train of thought when he wrenched apart her, his eyes smouldering in the semi-darkness. "I hope you had a good nap earlier," He said, his voice husky. "Because I assure you, you will _not_ be getting any more sleep this night, Ginevra."

And sure enough, by the time they finally drifted off in each other's arms, drained and sated, the sun was beginning to rise.

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley realised that she had no one to talk to. Not about Draco Malfoy.

She couldn't believe how quickly time had passed, and how quickly things had progressed. Almost two weeks had gone by since the day he had shown up at the Harpies' practice, and now here she was, in his bedroom.

Getting someone else's opinion on her situation would have been helpful, but considering that everyone she knew would have a very obvious bias in the matter, it was perhaps best that she was making decisions on her own.

She was content living in this secluded little bubble for now. What would happen once that bubble popped is another story entirely… one she hoped she wouldn't have to live anytime soon.

* * *

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter.**

 **Cheers x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Greetings, my dear readers! Thank you all for the lovely reviews I received on the last chapter. I am glad you liked it, and I hope you will enjoy this one as well.**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Wizarding World belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 3**

* * *

Draco Malfoy was in a predicament, and he had only himself to blame for it.

Actually, that was not quite true. His situation was entirely the fault of Ginevra Weasley and her sexily dangerous mouth. That girl was more trouble than she was worth, what with that stubborn attitude and that fiery recklessness. Not to mention that she was a Weasley – a bloody, red-haired, classless Weasley.

If he were any smart, which he was, he would stop seeing her.

The only problem was that he couldn't. For reasons beyond his comprehension, he was finding her company far too enjoyable and did not think himself ready to give it up just yet.

 _Shit._

 **xx**

Draco had decided by 4 pm on Monday that this was one of the longest weeks of his life. There had been a horrendous mix-up of memos in the office, resulting in the wrong consignment of Wideye Potion to be sent to St. Mungo's Hospital and he had spent the entire morning doing damage control. After that, his other meetings had run back-to-back, leaving him no time to have anything more than half a cup of tea for lunch. On top of that, Nigel Wolpert, the young Auror that the Ministry had sent for their mandatory semi-annual molestation of the Malfoy accounts, was a dolt.

Wolpert looked like a sixteen-year-old, and for a second Draco wondered if the Ministry was grabbing children from the cradle and throwing them into Auror training just because their poster boy happened to be a teenage hero. They had sent said hero to the Malfoy offices a few years back, which had made for some interesting quarrels if nothing else. Of course, Saint Potter was now the Deputy Head of the Auror Department, too important to grace anyone unworthy with his presence.

Dealing with Wolpert had taken nearly two hours – a hundred and twenty minutes that Draco spent reminding himself that hexing the useless, Potter-worshipping, patronising imbecile would only land him in unnecessary trouble. Resisting the urge was hard though, as Wolpert made sure to remind him time and again that he was only doing his duty, though he didn't seem to be too bummed about it, and that the Malfoys deserved to be monitored due to their "past deeds".

As if the idiot – or the rest of the Ministry, for that matter – would ever find something that Draco didn't want them to find. He didn't care if his wealth was in the open; after the war, he had spent a while shutting down some of the more questionable business avenues of his father's, and now all his business dealings were entirely legal and on paper.

But the Malfoys had other possessions too, which included a vast collection of ancient artefacts and scripts, most of which either dealt with Dark Arts or were priceless relics from the wizarding past. Some of those were hidden in a secret Gringotts vault – his father had taught him early on that an affirming working relationship with the goblins would prove quite beneficial in the long run – and the rest were kept in secure rooms beneath the Manor, sealed off by ancient blood magic that was nigh on impossible to trace. He had no intention of using these artefacts, but it was an invaluable collection that had been in his family for years and he would not have it confiscated by anyone, least of all this baby Auror.

Draco had dropped the fake smile he had plastered on his face the second Wolpert left. Cooperating with the Ministry was testing, but necessary. He had learnt many lessons in his life, most often the harsh way, and one of them was the importance of the art of diplomacy. It was one that his father had tried instilling in him when he was younger, but he had dismissed it in his prideful youth. Now, though, not only he understood its value but also played it with remarkable efficiency.

Besides, he felt a special, twisted sort of pleasure in trampling the so-called honourable fools of the current Ministry regime with his own brand of polite disdain – using his sharp tongue with a voice imbued with just enough affability that he succeeded in causing offense that the receiver could not quite object to.

In any case, halfway through the day, he had sent Ginevra an owl, informing her that he was in absolutely no mood to take her out to dinner like they had planned, but that she was welcome to swing by the Manor ' _to get some'_ tea and biscuits and that he'd be ' _pleased to host her'_. The dual meaning had been intentional, of course, but he hadn't expected her to actually take him up on the offer.

Still, when she showed up outside the Manor wards later that evening, he wasn't about to turn her away.

They had decided to forego the untimely tea-time in favour of other activities by unspoken agreement. It was interesting how they seemed to share a lot of those moments where they managed to communicate without uttering a single word. Or perhaps they were both just too laden with lust.

As he lay on top of her, their bodies rocking in throes of passion, the feel of her warm skin exquisite against his and the sound of her moans music to his ears, Draco decided that maybe his day hadn't been as bad as he had originally thought.

Afterwards, when hunger had kicked in, he had asked his personal house-elf, Yugo, to prepare a simple meal for them. He slipped on a pair of silk pyjama bottoms and a plain t-shirt – he had always hated button down pyjama shirts for some reason – and padded into the main living room where Ginevra had relocated. She sat curled up on the settee, garbed in his emerald dressing gown which she had borrowed without his permission, unschooled simpleton that she was.

Her eyes turned to him when he entered, and she bit her lip as if to stifle a giggle.

"What?" he demanded, an eyebrow raised in question.

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's silly, really–"

"Most of the words that come out of your mouth usually are." Draco sneered, fully aware that him doing so would anger her. He had realised not too long after running into her in France that he rather enjoyed pushing her buttons. She reacted differently every time he threw insults her way and, whether she chose to reply with her impressive wit or resort to ignoring him with thinly veiled scorn, it was always fascinating to observe.

Sure enough, Ginevra shot him a dirty look and went on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "I was surprised to see you wearing a t-shirt. I didn't think you owned any."

Draco stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head, wondering what in the name of Salazar's blood did him wearing t-shirts have anything to do with anything, and why would she find the sight of him dressed in one so amusing. "Why wouldn't I own t-shirts?" He asked, unable to keep a hint of bewilderment out of his voice. "To the best of my knowledge, there is no law that prevents me from acquiring the particular item of clothing."

"It's just that I've only seen you dress so formally–"

"Were you dropped on the head when you were little?" He cut in, mildly irritated at how sometimes she would say such ridiculous things. The woman was intelligent, of that he had no doubt, even though she was not blessed with the drive to use her brains to full potential for her gain. But he supposed that was what made her a fitting Gryffindor. "I am a businessman. My profession demands that I dress formally, and while I shan't deny that I am quite fond of my formal sense of style, I don't wear it to bed."

"I know, I know," Ginevra said hurriedly, her eyes once again roaming over his form. She seemed to take the insult in good stride; it was something she had done previously as well, and had surprised him completely by doing so. He had not expected a Weasley to exhibit such tolerance, especially when it came to him. "You look cute."

He paused, finding himself torn between feeling flattered or indignant, which was something he often felt when he conversed with her. For now, he decided to stick to the latter. "I must ask you to refrain from using that word in relation to me, Ginevra," he said as he took a seat on the other end of the couch. "I mean, _puffskeins_ are cute."

"As are you. In a tee." She grinned.

He pressed his lips together, fully aware that she would make it a habit of using that particular adjective in regard to him if he expressed any further dislike towards it. Deciding that it was best to change the topic, he pointedly looked at the robe she had put on and said, "You know, it is good manners to ask permission before you use other people's things."

"It is also good manners to make sure your guests feel at home," She shot back, "Especially the ones who give you an orgasm."

"And get one in return," He pointed out.

"Touché," She admitted as she stretched out her legs, resting her feet in his lap.

Draco stared. Did she truly think that one orgasm, albeit a rather mind-blowing one, gave her the right to not only treat his belongings as her own but to actually treat him as her footrest? The audacity!

"I needed that, though," She went on, unaware of his line of thought. "With our first match only a week away, Gwenog is running the team into the ground. I had an eleven-hour practice session today. Can you believe that?"

As a matter of fact, he could. He remembered how long the Quidditch practice used to last when he played for Slytherin, and though he had never been able to beat Potter, his performance against the other teams had been quite remarkable. And that had only been the House Cup at Hogwarts, this was the British and Irish Quidditch League. "I don't see why you are even bothering," He couldn't help but say, "There is no way the Harpies will win against Puddlemere United."

Ginevra kicked his thigh lightly, almost causing him to jump. "Must you act like an insufferable git all the time?" she asked. "Be nice and support me."

"Absolutely not." He responded instantly. The idea of him supporting the Holyhead Harpies was unfathomable. "Wood is an exceptional captain and he will play to Puddlemere's strength, which is their defence. I highly doubt even an aggressive chaser like yourself would be able to get the Quaffle anywhere near the goal posts."

"You're a Puddlemere United fan," Her voice was filled with wonder, as if someone had told her the meaning of life. "I thought you'd support the Magpies."

"And _why_ would I do that?"

"You seem like the kind of bloke who would support whoever's on top," She said with a shrug.

"I resent that statement, Ginevra," Draco sniffed in disdain, wondering if he really came across as that. He probably did, his mind supplied, and he realised that he could not fault her for thinking that he would blindly choose the winning side. He had done so several times in the past, hadn't he? His left forearm, burned with the Dark Mark, twitched unceremoniously at that, and he hastily shoved those tendrils of thoughts away. The last thing he wanted was for that suffocating, morbid darkness to descend on his mind. "I will have you know that I have been an avid Puddlemere United fan since I was six years of age, and I had everything about them memorized by the time I was ten."

" _Everything_?" She raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Everything." he repeated confidently.

And so, as they dug into the tea and sandwiches Yugo had brought, Ginevra quizzed him on his favourite team. It was basic facts at first – what year they were founded in, their logo, their song – but soon she was questioning him on team statistics. Halfway through the interrogation, he realised that she did not know the answers to the questions she was asking, but he excitedly continued to spew out details of old victories and player histories.

Draco felt like a little boy once again, whose biggest concern in life was to babble enough Puddlemere United facts so that his father would be convinced to arrange a meet-and-greet with his favourite players post-match. He'd collect their autographs and then spend days bouncing around in joy. He used to think that one day, after he started playing Quidditch professionally, children would collect his signatures too. Needless to say, that hadn't happened and it never would.

His autograph journal must be somewhere in the Manor, he mused. Up until the age of fifteen, he had kept it securely in his bedside drawer, giving no one the permission to touch it. But then he had turned sixteen and the Dark Lord had asked for a private meeting with him… And Quidditch no longer remained his top priority in life.

Ginevra appeared to be quite impressed by the vast pools of Puddlemere United knowledge he had stored in his head, and that pleased him. For better or for worse, attention-seeking had always been a trait of his; he loved the idea of being placed on a pedestal and praised. It was ironic how his life had turned out. He had ended up on a pedestal, alright, first at a few of the Death Eater meetings and then in the middle of the Wizengamot Courtroom, only it would be quite a bit of stretch to classify the things spoken about him as 'praise'.

"Are you going to the stadium?" Ginevra asked, mercifully breaking his train of thought, "To watch the match on Sunday?"

"No," Draco replied, trying his best to not look too disappointed. He had been abroad for business when the tickets had gone on sale and were sold out by the time he returned. "Unfortunately, I was unable to secure seats."

She plopped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and settled back, causing him to realise that somehow her feet had remained in his lap throughout the entire meal. He was contemplating shoving them aside when she spoke up. "I can get you tickets if you're still interested to come."

Draco stilled, eyes snapping to hers in surprise. _Still interested to come?!_ Merlin, the woman was as dumb as a post at times. "Did you not understand how big of a fan I am of Puddlemere United?" he asked incredulously.

"I'll take that as a yes," A brief smile touched her lips, only to be replaced with a thoughtful frown. "The seats will be in the same box as my family. If that's a problem–"

"It's not." It was, and they both knew it. He would sooner share a box with an enraged Blast-Ended Skrewt than the Weasleys. But if sitting in the vicinity of that ginger family presented him with an opportunity to watch Puddlemere's opening match, then he was willing to make the sacrifice. "It won't be," he assured her.

She eyed him dubiously for a few short moments, and he blinked innocently at her. He mustn't have done a good job at it, for she looked amused, as if she could see right through his charade.

"Will it be possible for you to arrange two tickets?" He asked. Zabini was as much of a Puddlemere fan as he was and would definitely want to come, even though the git had failed entirely to secure seats for the match, despite being in the country at the time. Blaise had claimed to be swamped at the hospital, treating a man who had unknowingly come into contact with a cursed object, but Draco didn't think that that was reason enough to skip ticket sales.

"Sure." Ginevra shrugged lightly.

Just like that.

For a moment Draco wondered if she was yanking his wand, but he could tell that she was entirely serious – glad, even, of getting him a place at the match. He reckoned it wouldn't be that difficult for her to invite a few guests of her own, seeing that she was playing the game. A thought occurred to him. "I hope you do not expect me to support the Harpies now, Ginevra," he said, deciding it was better to make it clear that his loyalties lay with her opponent team.

"I think that out of the two of us, you're the one more likely to lord favours over others as a demand for their support," she stated. "Not me."

"You are not wrong," He admitted. It was a very Slytherin thing to do and she was Gryffindor to the bone, no doubt offering him match seats out of the goodness of her heart. He supposed he should thank her, but his ego wouldn't allow him to express gratitude, especially to a Weasley. Which was silly really, seeing that he was actually romantically involved with her. And yet, the words were stuck in his throat, completely unwilling to come out.

Reaching out, he grabbed her ankle and pushed it down the settee, causing her legs to part and her robe to flip open. She let out a startled gasp, chocolate eyes boring into his, and he lowered his lips to her exposed knee, leaving behind a trail of butterfly kisses as he slowly made his way up her leg.

He could tell by the way her body stiffened that she was caught off-guard. While their sexual escapades had been nothing short of glorious, neither of them had used their mouths for exploring ' _southern territories_ ' in the duration of their brief affair.

That was about to change, he decided, as he tightened his grip on her thighs. He heard her take in a sharp breath, no doubt torn between disbelief and anticipation. Perhaps one day, if she was willing, he would get to feel her beautiful lips around him. The thought caused his blood to gush down to his groin, and he pushed aside those dirty desires. This moment was about her, not him.

He had had trouble finding the words to thank her, but as he buried his face between her legs, Draco made sure that Ginevra Weasley knew that he was indeed grateful.

 **xx**

"Here you go," Ginevra handed him an envelope as she slid into the bench across from him.

Draco wordlessly pocketed the item that contained the tickets for the match, which was scheduled to take place the next day, and eyed the woman before him. She was garbed in a pair of jeans and a worn-out jumper twice her size – not a choice of clothing that he would ever truly approve of – but she somehow managed to carry it with feminine grace. Her long hair was tied into an unruly ponytail, flaming red locks making their way out of the knot and falling about her slightly freckled face. Many boys had fancied her back at Hogwarts, and though he himself had never glanced at her twice back then, now he could appreciate that she was indeed quite beautiful.

She appeared to be thrumming with energy, a pre-match feeling he could recall from his Quidditch playing days, where one was filled with a mixture of nerves and exhilaration, stomach tied in countless knots, ready for battle and dreading it at the same time. It was an intense feeling, but not an uncomfortable one.

"I can't stay long," She said, her brown eyes needlessly apologetic.

"Understandable," He said.

It was lunch time and she had asked him to meet her at the Leaky Cauldron for a quick bite before she returned to practice. He rather wished she had picked some other venue; the pub was bustling with countless witches and wizards, the noise of conversations much too loud for Draco's tastes. He preferred having his meals, even the rushed ones, in appropriately peaceful spaces.

"I'm going to be busy tomorrow, so your second ticket will probably go to waste," Her lips quirked teasingly. "Unless you plan on bringing some other lady as your date."

"Is this your way of asking if we are mutually exclusive, Ginevra?" he asked, an eyebrow raised, then continued before she could respond. "We are."

"Shit," She smacked her hand on the table top with remorse. "Now I will have to break up with all the other men I have been seeing behind your back."

Draco shot her a look, not finding her joke funny at all, though he had been reliably informed by various sources that his own sense of humour had been somewhat lacking over the last few years, not without good reason. "Besides, I wouldn't have taken you even if you had been available," he said, deciding to move the conversation on. "The idea of having to engage with your family in an unnecessary duel does not appeal to me."

"Coward," Ginevra snorted.

"I call it self-preservation," He corrected, wondering whether the idea of worrying about one's own safety was so alien to these noble Gryffindors. "I'd be vastly outnumbered against your brothers. How many of those do you have, again?" The question was unnecessary; he knew the answer but could not resist this perfect opportunity to mock her family's large numbers.

"Five."

"That _many?_ " He stated with a hint of bewilderment. "How did you all fit into that hovel you call a home?"

The smile that touched her lips was sweet, which was never a good sign, and a moment later Draco felt her foot come into contact with his shin. _Hard_. He flinched and glared ferociously at her, while she pretended to look around the pub with mock casualness. Wench. He was beginning to realise that she was perfectly alright with taking physical liberties – not the good kind, mind – whenever and wherever she deemed fit. It was a dangerous trait.

Draco reached down and rubbed at the sore spot as subtly as he could; uncivil cretin that she was, she had come to lunch wearing Quidditch boots. "I will have you know," He said, summoning as much of his dignity as he could to make it seem like he was unaffected by her insolence, "that if you expect me to fight your family for the sake of our peculiar relationship, you are going to be sorely disappointed."

"I don't know you," she said sharply.

What in the name of Salazar's holy blood was _that_ supposed to mean? He had been answering her questions with exceptional patience ever since they had met at Château d'Orchidée, and though he had quite a few secrets that he was adamant of keeping hidden, he had put up no pretences before her as to what kind of a man he was.

He looked up at her in exasperation, a taunt about her much-too-late qualms on the tip of his tongue, only to realise that the seat across from him was empty. It took him a moment to realise that she had actually left. Bitch. Merlin knew he had said far worse things to her in the last couple of weeks, and she had taken it all in good humour, even throwing a few impressive comebacks his way. Why, then, would she get so offended over something so little was beyond him.

Muttering something particularly nasty in French, he sat back and folded his arms over his chest stubbornly. If she wanted to act like a drama queen then she was welcome to do so, but he would have no part in it. He was going to get a sandwich and then head back to his office, where a huge pile of documents awaited him. Besides, Draco Malfoy did not chase after girls.

 _Or_ he could chase after her, give her a piece of his mind and then return to work. It seemed like a petty thing to do, but there were countless insults flying in his mind and it would be such a shame to waste them. Resolve made, he slipped out of the corner booth that they had been occupying. He was halfway across the pub when he spotted her auburn hair, and he stopped in his tracks.

'I don't know you,' she had said. All of a sudden, he realised that Ginevra's words had not been a complaint on her part but rather a heads-up.

For standing next to her was Harry Potter.

The hero of the Wizarding World had grown a short beard, but his poorly hidden lightning scar and the round-rimmed glasses were as recognisable as ever, which is probably what the git had intended; it had been his habit since school days to at least make the first pages, if not the cover, of the Daily Prophet whenever he visited Diagon Alley. Sure enough, heads were turning all over the place, people whispering in hushed tones about the 'Boy who Lived Twice', who happened to be chatting happily with his ex-girlfriend.

Draco inched forward so he could hear what they were saying. He had a very different moral compass compared to most people, so eavesdropping to satiate his curiosity was perfectly acceptable behaviour in his books.

"…thought I'd grab a quick bite here, but it seems like a bad idea." Ginevra was vaguely gesturing at the crowd.

"If you're in a hurry, I can ask Tom to serve you first," Potter offered graciously. It was pathetic, really, that the man never tired of playing the noble hero. Or perhaps he was simply showing off his friendship with Tom the landlord, which wasn't that much of a feat, to be honest.

"Oh, no. It's fine." Ginevra shook her head. "Are you coming tomorrow, by the way?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Gin," Potter smiled at her.

It was obvious that there was a lot of history between them; their soppy love story had been featured in the newspapers over the years and the announcement of their break-up had caused much stir – Draco's own personal assistant had spent half a day bemoaning the tragedy and had only shut up when he had threatened to fire her.

But Draco noted with mild interest that Potter's gaze lingered on the red-haired woman. Did the great hero still hold a candle for his ex? Or perhaps this was simply how a sentimental fool such as Potter would look at someone he had once shared such a close bond with.

For Merlin's sake, whenever they had had the rare misfortune of running into each other over the past six years, the noble hero had addressed him as 'Draco' rather than spitting out his last name with contempt like he used to, and he had absolutely no idea what had caused this drastic change. Considering that, Potter's tender gaze directed towards the woman he had no doubt once loved dearly did not seem odd at all.

"Then you better stop Ron from betting against the Harpies like he did last time," Ginevra said, "Or you both are getting owl droppings for Christmas."

Potter laughed. "I make no promises but I…" He trailed off as his green eyes landed on Draco, who expertly put up a nonchalant persona, as if he just happened to be walking by. "Draco," he greeted tersely.

Next to him, Ginevra very subtly nodded towards the street out the window, her message clear as the fact that Trelawney's crystal balls were utterly useless. Draco initially felt outraged that she was bossing him around, but then he realised sheepishly that he would have waited outside for her, regardless of whether she asked or not. He did, however, made a mental note to have a word with her about what sort of behaviour was acceptable in their relationship. It would not be a pretty conversation but, what with her using his possessions, hitting him and giving him wordless commands, it felt like a necessary one.

"Potter," he sneered – Merlin! It felt good to sneer at this arsehole – and sauntered past them and out onto the street, welcoming the fresh, autumn air that hit him when he stepped out.

As he waited for Ginevra, his mind wandered back to the interaction he had witnessed inside. He could not tell if she still held any romantic feelings for Potter. She had only mentioned him once in passing, and that too when they had been discussing the appointment of Rita Skeeter as one of the correspondents at the upcoming Quidditch league; Ginevra had complained about how that red-lipped cow tended to focus on writing ridiculous stories about Potter rather than reporting on the games she was supposed to cover. Beyond that, she had never spoken about her previous relationship or the break-up, and he had never asked.

Nor did he want to. Truth was, he couldn't care less.

He tended to stay as far away from Potter as he could, mainly because his own feelings towards the hero were quite complicated – the two of them had been enemies at school, and yet they had somehow ended up aiding each other during the war, which was something he could not allow himself to think of, lest his mind be taken over by memories that made his blood run cold. Rubbing at his left forearm absently, Draco thought back to his trial, where Potter had spoken in his defence. It had been an impressive speech and had resulted in a much lenient verdict. While he was grateful to not be in Azkaban, he did so loathe the fact that he owed Scarhead a debt.

"Sorry," Draco snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Ginevra, who was standing before him, glancing back towards the Leaky Cauldron. "I should have asked you to wait for me at Diagon Alley instead of this muggle street," she said.

"You could have," He conceded. "But coming up with an idea like that would have required use of a functioning brain, which I do believe you do not happen to possess."

She shot him a scathing look. "I am short-tempered when I am hungry. If you keep on acting like a git, you will get hexed, Malfoy."

His lips twitched with amusement, and he found her blazing eyes and her flushed cheeks incredibly sexy. "More short-tempered than usual?" he asked, and upon noticing her venomous expression, hastened to add: "I wish to know for purely educational purposes."

"Yes," Ginevra replied shortly. "Now, can we find some restaura– oh, _shit_!" Ginevra exclaimed and ducked into a narrow alleyway, yanking him along with her. She shoved him flat against the wall and pressed herself to him. For a bizarre moment he thought she was looking for a quick shag, but then he noticed her trying to peek back into the main street. "Harry told me he was meeting Ron here," her voice was barely a whisper, and he was only able to hear her because they were standing so close, "I should have known."

Wait, what?

Draco glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, the useless git was making his way towards the Leaky Cauldron. To think that he was hiding in a filthy alleyway from bloody Weaselbee, of all people. It was humiliating. Ginevra was acting horrendously and if he let her make any more decisions about their afternoon, he would probably end up in the sewers, scraping food off the soggy ground while he hid from some other Gryffindor twat.

No, it was time for him to take control. Which he did instantly by wrapping his arm around her waist and apparating them both away from that wretched place.

Since they had wasted quite a bit of time playing unnecessary hide-and-seek, they had no choice but to skip out on a proper, civilised meal and grab something from a street vendor in Holyhead. Draco flat-out refused to buy anything from the little van with questionable hygiene that was selling burgers filled with so much sauce that it would be nigh on impossible to eat them whilst walking to the Harpies headquarters, which was what they had intended to do. Ginevra, on the other hand, had absolutely no qualms about getting a steak burger that practically dripped onto her hands.

As he eyed her with disgust, he had to fight off the urge to snatch the so-called food item from her hands and toss it into a bin before proceeding to wipe her fingers clean with a napkin. Conversation, it seemed, was the easiest way to resist and he initiated it by calling her a coward. "You refused to acknowledge me in front of Potter and literally hid from Weaselbee," he pointed out. "You no longer have any right to judge my sense of self-preservation, seeing that you are horribly frightened at the prospect of your family discovering our relationship."

"I am not," she said defensively.

" _Please_ ," He scoffed. "When you saw Potter at the Leaky Cauldron, you jumped out of your seat to get away from me so fast that one would think that someone had placed Sprout's spiky bushes beneath your lovely bottom."

Ginevra was beginning to blush, her cheeks getting redder by the second, a sight that he found himself enjoying immensely. "I may have been caught off-guard temporarily by their presence," she admitted slowly, "But that does _not_ mean that I am afraid of being seen with you. We have been going out, haven't we?"

"To places your family and friends would never frequent."

Her mouth worked for a second or two as she tried to come up with a response to that. "I am not afraid," she repeated stubbornly. "Just you watch."

"Watch what? You jumping into a trash can just so you can hide from your brothers?" He asked with a mocking laugh, "I'm not going to lie to you, Ginevra, I do think that scenario might actually occur in our near future."

"It won't."

"Coward," Draco almost sang. Now that he had found out not only her weakness but also this glorious opportunity to annoy her, he was going to milk it dry for its worth. "I take it that that infamous courage that you Gryffindors were supposed to possess was simply a myth. Or perhaps, it is you who was simply not blessed with it. Such a shame, rea–"

"You are such an insufferable arsehole, Malfoy," She snapped, practically fuming with anger.

They had reached the headquarters of the Holyhead Harpies, the pitch looming tall ahead of them. He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes earnestly. "It's alright," he said, adopting a tone people usually used when expressing condolences. "You mustn't be ashamed, Ginevra. You are what you are, and I promise not to judge you for your cowardice."

"I am not a coward. Just you watch." Ginevra challenged as she placed a hard kiss on his lips and stormed away, leaving him smirking at her reaction.

 **xx**

"You are _shagging_ Ginny Weasley?" Blaise Zabini asked, dumbfounded.

It was rare to see the dark-skinned man so flabbergasted, and Draco would have been more amused had this not been the third time he was hearing this question, or if they had not been ascending the staircases of the Ellis Moor Quidditch Stadium.

"Yes," Draco replied with forced patience as he cast a quick glance around to make sure that none of the people around them were listening to their conversation, not that he would have been able to do much if they had. There was always 'obliviate', but performing memory charms to keep his relationship hidden felt like unnecessary hard work. "I thought I made that fairly clear. Now, shut your mouth before you accidentally swallow an insect, Zabini."

Normally, Blaise would have responded with a rather colourful description of forbidden areas that insects would be welcome to enter Draco's system with, however, for now he continued to linger on the topic at hand. " _Ginny Weasley_?" he repeated, this time with incredulity rather than shock. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He shouldn't be complaining, seeing that he had himself dug into this hole; not only had he invited his best friend to the match but, upon being inquired as to how he managed to acquire the tickets, provided him with a brief but honest explanation. "I understand that it is a shocking turn of events–"

"I hope you realise that she has a dozen brothers who loathe you with a burning passion and will not hesitate to break every single bone in your body when they find out that you've defiled their only sister," Blaise cut in, clearly in no mood to deal with his diplomatic farce. "It will be entertaining to watch, no doubt, but seeing that I'll be the one stuck with healing you, I'd much prefer cutting my workload in advance by telling you that this is a horrible, _horrible_ idea."

"Perhaps," He conceded, "But none of that is important right now. Shall we just enjoy the match?"

They had reached their box, which was large enough to seat sixteen people. A quick glance around told him that there were some other spectators present as well, meaning that he and Blaise wouldn't be stuck with just the Weasleys. Fate did shower its little mercies upon him now and then, he mused happily, but was quick to discard the thought when he realised that the only vacant seats were in the front row, right next to Potter, Weaselbee and Granger.

As he and Blaise made their way over to the seats, Draco noticed that the Weasley clan did shoot him suspicious, indignant glares but then went back to chatting happily amongst themselves. There weren't as many redheads present as he had imagined, only Ginevra's parents, the twin who had survived (George, was it?), Angelina Johnson-Weasley and a little boy bubbling with excitement who had to be their son.

"Merlin's hairy armpit!" Blaise exclaimed in his ear. "Tell me you're not seriously dating one of _those_."

"Not one of those, no," He whispered back and shot his friend a warning glare, making it clear that it would be extremely unwise to continue that particular conversation.

Blaise met his glare coolly. "This is not going to end well for you, Drake, and you know it." He said wisely, then raised his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, a gesture that was his equivalent of ' _it's your funeral_ '.

Like almost everyone in their generation, Blaise had not remained unimpacted by the war. He had grown a conscience, which led him to becoming a healer even though he had expressed disregard for the line of profession back at school, and he had grown a common sense – or at least, his own twisted version of it – that he was always willing to shower upon Draco. It was infuriating, and the blonde often found himself feeling nostalgic for the time when Blaise had been nothing but a haughty bastard who deemed himself to be above everyone else.

There was a loud boom, and then Lee Jordan's voice echoed all around the stadium. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the second match of this year's British and Irish Quidditch League!" he paused to let the cheers die down. The man had become one of the leading sports commentators, now that he had given up his horrid habit of taking sides. Draco remembered how ridiculously biased he had been during Gryffindor and Slytherin matches back at Hogwarts. "For those of you who missed out, the Ballycastle Bats defeated Pride of Portree by sixty points in the opening match of the season three days ago. And today we find out who will claim the second victory of the season. Will it be Puddlemere United?"

Half of the stadium that was predominantly dressed in dark blue burst into a loud chorus of Puddlemere's team anthem, ' _Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here_ '. Draco found himself clapping so hard that his hands were almost numb.

"Or will it be the Holyhead Harpies?" Jordan asked, and cheers erupted from the other half of the stadium. In their box, the Weasley clan was shouting at the top of their lungs. "Well, let's bring our teams out. Give it up for Puddlemere United!"

Draco had been five-years-old when his father had taken him to watch his first Quidditch match. He remembered how his heart had nearly stopped when he had seen Puddlemere United make its entrance into the stadium: seven members of the team flying around the pitch in a perfect V-formation to the tune of their anthem, their navy robes flapping wildly in the wind and their right fists held up as a sign of strength. It hadn't been anything excessively extravagant or dazzling, but it was breath-taking nonetheless.

He found it to be a relief that, even after all the darkness that had touched his life, he could still feel the same exhilaration watching his favourite team enter the field that he had felt all those years ago.

He had his mother to thank for that, and a lot more. After the war, he had found it hard to reinvest in any of his previous hobbies, finding it easy to bar himself from anything that could potentially give him joy, simply because he had become so accustomed to feeling empty inside. And then one day, while they were having their afternoon tea, his mother had turned on the radio commentary for a Quidditch match between some minor teams, and he found himself gripped once again in the claws of the sport he had loved so dearly.

"And now," Jordan's voice boomed, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Let's give a warm welcome to the lovely ladies of Holyhead Harpies!"

Draco felt that he should show some form of appreciation, seeing that he was covertly involved with Ginevra and that she had gotten him these rather wonderful seats at the match, so he clapped politely as the all-women team made its entrance. Unlike Puddlemere United, who always came out and stayed together like a team, the Harpies flew onto the pitch in a single line and then diverged from there, each player circuiting different parts of the stadium, waving at their fans as they did so.

"Traitor," Blaise hissed.

Draco did not fault his friend for saying that, it was indeed unusual of him to acknowledge anyone from an opponent team, let alone clap for them.

It was quite easy to spot Ginevra; her flaming red hair stood out, contrasting perfectly with the emerald robes of the Harpies uniform. She was zooming straight towards the box he was in, which was not surprising. She had mentioned a silly little ritual she did on every first match of the Quidditch season, which involved her flying to her family and closest friends and greeting them personally.

"Go, Ginny!" Weaselbee cheered as he patted his sister's back.

"Break a leg," The twin shouted. "Or rather, break Wood's leg. Git used to drag us from our beds so early in the morning for practices. Remember that, Harry?"

"I do," Potter said with a laugh as he high-fived his ex. "Good luck, Gin."

Ginevra was beaming as she clapped hands with as many family members as she could, spending an extra second to ruffle her nephew's hair lovingly.

Draco felt Blaise's gaze burning into him. No doubt the arsehole was studying his face closely to determine just how invested he was in this particular relationship. He turned to his friend and shot him an exasperated look. Honestly, the man was going to let the pixie out of the cage with his judgmental expressions alone. It wasn't that hard to hold off the lecture until they went for dinner after the match.

A fist bunched into the lapel of his jacket, causing him to turn in alarm. It was Ginevra, hovering before him, her eyes flashing with some emotion that he could not quite read. Wariness began to creep into his heart and he opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing when her lips crashed onto his.

 _Galloping gargoyles!_

Not in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that she would choose to make their relationship public in this way. She was kissing him in front of the entire stadium and her bloody family. He raised his hands and gripped her forearms, intending to push her away but his traitorous lips were already responding to the kiss. And by Salazar's sweet snake, was it a _good_ kiss; he couldn't have pulled away even if someone had compelled him under the Imperius Curse to do so.

Her Firebolt slowly started to inch away and Draco was practically leaning over the rail by the time their lips parted. She flashed him a quick grin before flying away, leaving him utterly dumbfounded.

It was then that his situation registered to him.

The crowd in the stadium had erupted into cheers, as they always did whenever any player exhibited any sort of public display of affection. Blaise had an extremely annoying 'I-knew-this-was-going-to-be-a-disaster' expression on his face.

Lee Jordan was proving that he was as unbiased as flobberworms were dangerous. "But why would Weasley kiss Draco Malfoy, of all people?" he was asking, his bewildered voice loud and clear even over the applause. "Maybe someone had dared her to snog the biggest, slimiest git she could find. Yes, that explains i–" His voice was cut off abruptly, and he returned a moment later with a nervous laugh. "This is all good-natured humour, of course. Please don't sue me or the British and Irish Quidditch League, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's attention, however, was fixed on the occupants in his box, which had gone as silent as a graveyard. The Weasleys, along with Potter and Granger, had been staring at him incredulously, but he could tell that their disbelief was slowly giving way to blind rage.

 _Fuck._

 **xx**

Draco Malfoy was in a predicament, and he had only himself to blame for it.

In fact, if he hadn't been the one in danger of being murdered by a bunch of rabid redheads, he would have thought this was just desserts. He had been the one to call Ginevra a coward, after all. If he somehow managed to come out on the other end alive, this would make a good life lesson: if you shove your hand in a lioness' mouth, the lioness will bite.

Still, the fault was not entirely his.

Ginevra would have to shoulder most of the blame for the fiasco. Of all the things she could have done at the match, she had to plant a mind-shattering kiss on his lips. And then, she flew away to play Quidditch, leaving him to deal with her ferocious family.

That ginger bitch.

* * *

 **There you go, the first chapter from Draco's POV. It was a tricky one to write and I struggled a bit to capture his personality. I hope I did an okay job of it.**

 **Please do review and let me know your thoughts on the chapter.**

 **Cheers x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, readers! I bring you the next installment of Wilfully. Thank you for all the feedback I have been receiving, it means a lot to me.**

 **Disclaimer: Potter world is JK Rowling's. Not mine.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 4**

* * *

Each passing day brought with it new conflictions, and Draco Malfoy found himself getting more and more entangled in all of them.

He should have known this was going to happen – truth was, deep down he _did_ know, but for the first time in his life, he had turned a blind eye to his gut instinct.

What a stupid thing to do.

 **xx**

Dawn came with a musical silence, causing the warm air to thrum with a life that was not quite living but never dead. Draco strolled down a narrow path between two rows of tall grapevines as he eyed hues of orange light break through the grey, clouded sky, admiring the simplistic beauty of nature that he had never quite paid any attention to in his youth, but now relied on to bring him some sense of peace in his life.

And Merlin knew he deserved some peace after the 'excitement' of the Quidditch match the day before.

For the dozenth time, he cursed Ginevra Weasley for being so reckless. And then reluctantly admitted to himself that her move, though fairly inconvenient to him at the time, had been a stroke of cunning that probably would have impressed Salazar Slytherin himself. He was surprised that a Gryffindor like her was even capable of thinking something like this, let alone going through with it.

By kissing him in the stadium, she had killed three birds with a single stone, so to speak. She had made their relationship public. She had shut him up for calling her a coward, and had done so in a manner that would certainly have him thinking twice before he ever dared to do so again. And lastly, she had informed her family of her involvement with Draco and invoked their very predicable wrath in a public space where it could be somewhat controlled.

Which is exactly what had happened.

Ginevra's parents had glared at him in disbelief, the twin had cracked his knuckles angrily, and Weaselbee had shouted something along the lines of _"How dare you touch my sister, you ferret?"_ as he charged forward with his wand brandished. Potter had tried to hold the ginger twat back, albeit halfheartedly; it was obvious that the Boy Who Lived Twice wanted nothing more than to assist his best friend rather than stop him.

It was Granger, much to Draco's surprise, who had been the voice of reason. With a few choice words, she had promptly reminded everyone that they were in that moment under the scrutiny of almost the entire wizarding community in Britain, and therefore could not afford to brawl like a band of bumbling baboons in the middle of the Quidditch stadium.

They all had settled down then, with Weaselbee shooting him a dark look that promised retribution, and Draco had watched the entire match with his fingers firmly wrapped around his wand, ready to whip it out of his pocket and use it at a moment's notice if need arose. The need didn't arise and once the match was over – Puddlemere United defeated the Holyhead Harpies by 90 points, a result that pleased Draco doubly due to his irritation towards Ginevra – he was one of the first ones to leave the box.

Well aware that the Weasley clan was practically at his heels, he had hastened his steps as he headed towards the players' enclosure. If those ginger gits and their honourable hero friends wanted answers, they were welcome to get them from Ginevra. He would be damned if he let her trap him into this ugly confrontation, especially when he had made it quite clear that he was not going to fight her family for the sake of their relationship.

Ginevra had been standing outside the locker rooms, her shoulders sagged in dejection. "Well played, darling," he called out to her by way of greeting, watching with a sick amusement how she had jumped at the sound of his voice.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the Weasleys were well within the hearing range – they were only fifteen or so feet behind him, and livid by the looks of it – Draco strode over to her. "Your family and I didn't have a chance to converse because we were so focused on your match," he said politely, _too_ politely. "Now that it's over, you can answer their questions. I'd help, but I have a train to catch later this evening. I have to go abroad for a couple of days."

Her brows furrowed with a mixture of anger and trepidation. "Dra–"

He took her face in his hands, not allowing her to speak. "I have absolute faith that you will be able to handle this situation on your own. Take care, darling." A smirk of vengeance made its way to his lips; she may have been a lioness, but he was a snake and it was _his_ bite that was fatal to most. She would do well to remember that. "Oh, and do not despair. Losing is just part of the game." With those dual meaning words, he had planted a quick but firm kiss on her lips and disapparated with a _pop_ , not even staying behind to see the reaction of her family, which can't have been pretty.

There would be a reckoning for his actions, of that Draco had no doubt. Truth was, he would have stayed put for the drama; he was confident in his abilities to defend himself with words or wand, and was not afraid of that destitute, horrendously honourable ginger family, but he did actually have a train to catch.

Which brought him to the beautiful Italian countryside, watching the sun rise in the distance as he strolled through the vineyard that his family owned.

As Draco walked through the rows of vines, pausing now and then to touch the leaves, he mused that he had half-expected a bunch of howlers from Ginevra to reach him by now. The lack of screaming letters meant that she had indeed managed to handle the situation. Or perhaps, she was waiting for him to return so she could unleash her fury at him all at once. Or maybe the Weasleys had locked her up in her room to keep her away from him.

He nearly snorted at the last one. As if anyone could ever contain that she-beast. He had only known Ginevra for a few weeks, and was still learning things about her, but he knew that she was a talented witch and was perfectly capable of achieving anything she set her eyes on. It was almost a Slytherin quality, but the fact that her ambitions were so menial made her such a Gryffindor. That, and her reckless bravado.

Still, she had proven to be a worthy companion so far and he was certain that their mutual attempts at throwing each other in a den of angry hippogriffs will not jeopardise whatever relationship had developed between them.

"Draco."

A soft, feminine voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned around. Narcissa Malfoy stood a few feet from him, a vision of grace in a plain dress. "Mother," he greeted softly, feeling his heart brim with a tenderness that he always felt whenever he was around her. "You're up early."

"As are you," she pointed out, eyeing him from head to toe as if to see if he was alright. She had always done that, though back during his early Hogwarts years it had been to gauge how much he had grown or if he had been eating properly at school. Later on, it was simply to ensure that he had returned unharmed from his Death Eater missions. "Effie told me you arrived quite late last night."

"I did." He had reached the villa way past midnight, and Effie the house-elf had informed him upon his arrival that his mother had already retired.

"Then why aren't you in bed?"

Draco wondered if he should tell his mother that he had foregone going to bed in favour of roaming around the countryside all night. "Too many thoughts," he said, well aware that his response would still be met with disapproval. His mother had always expressed concern over his habit of wandering about in the dark hours and pondering over things he had no control over. She called it an unhealthy activity, he called it a necessary solitude. Still, he did not want her to worry, so he went on in a lighter tone, "Or perhaps, having missed seeing my dear mother last night, I wanted to ensure that I'd be able to join her for breakfast this morning."

His words did the trick: a smile slowly spread out on her lips, and she moved forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "I've missed you."

"And I you, mother," he murmured, eyeing the woman whose strength had awed him time and again.

Narcissa Malfoy had built a life in the Malfoy Manor, but her utopia had practically become a torture chamber during the war. After the Dark Lord's demise, Potter's statement had freed her of all charges and his interference at Draco's trial had resulted in a much lenient punishment – a probation and a fine that the ministry assumed was hefty but did not blow a hole in the Malfoy fortune. But when it came to Lucius Malfoy's trial, neither Potter nor anyone else spoke up, and the man was sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban.

Though he had been taken with his own healing and responsibilities at the time, Draco hadn't been blind to his mother's struggles. It had been difficult to resettle into the Manor that was not only empty but also tainted with much misery, and on top of that the wizarding community seemed hell bent on showing no kindness to the remaining members of the Malfoy family. She had endured the disrespect in silence, but he knew that it was slowly taking a toll on her, which is why he had convinced her to move to the Tuscan villa that his father had gifted to her when Draco had been born. It had a special place in her heart, and she was always happy here.

The mother and son spoke of small, inconsequential things as they slowly made their way back to the villa that stood atop a low hill. Effie had already set up their breakfast in the veranda; the house-elf was very good at her job and even better at making herself scarce when she was not needed.

A companionable silence fell between them as Draco delved into the freshly prepared meal while Narcissa enjoyed a cup of coffee and reached for the newspaper. He was childishly pouring copious amounts of maple syrup onto his waffles when he heard his mother clear her throat in disapproval. He looked up, ready to defensively state that he was old enough to decide how much syrup he could have on his breakfast, when he noticed her steely expression. "What?" Draco asked warily.

His mother pressed her lips together in obvious distaste and handed him the Daily Prophet. And he knew in an instant what was wrong.

Half of the front page of the newspaper was covered with a picture of Ginevra and him kissing rather passionately. Below it was a smaller picture of Potter looking at them with a shocked expression, his eyes wide and his brows drawn into a frown.

 _ **HARRY POTTER LOSES THE GAME OF LOVE TO AN EX-DEATH EATER  
**_ _By, Rita Skeeter_

 _The hero of the Wizarding World suffered a severe blow to his heart when his ex-girlfriend announced her relationship with ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, 24, right before the Puddlemere United vs. Holyhead Harpies game at the Ellis Moor Quidditch Stadium yesterday afternoon._

 _Ginny Weasley, 23, who plays as a Chaser for the Harpies, initiated a passionate lip-lock with Malfoy right in front of her old flame, Harry Potter, who happened to be sitting only a few seats away, leaving the young and dashing saviour of our community completely heartbroken._

 _Potter, who had been involved in a serious relationship with Miss Weasley since before his infamous victory at the Battle of Hogwarts six years ago, had announced their amicable split only a year ago, but sources tell us that he had been looking forward to rekindling a romance with her._

" _Harry is head over heels in love with Ginny, he always has been." a Ministry official who wished to remain anonymous told the Prophet exclusively, "He often said he was going to ask her out, was probably looking for the right time to do it. It's a shame she chose that Malfoy bloke over him. Harry and Ginny are soulmates; I never even understood why they broke up in the first place."_

 _The reasons behind the break-up were never revealed. Though, it is now being speculated that perhaps Miss Weasley's fascination with the rich and enigmatic Draco Malfoy had something to do with it._

 _Malfoy, who is currently the CEO of the Malfoy Corporation and the sole heir to his family's vast wealth, has a dark past that everyone is aware of. He was convicted of being a member of the Dark Wizard Voldemort's inner circle by the Wizengamot, but only faced a lenient punishment due to his questionably helpful actions towards the Golden Trio. Though he has managed to keep his personal life private since the trial, it has now been revealed that his romance with Miss Weasley has been blooming for a while now._

" _We saw them at La Nuit weeks ago," Bertha Jenkins, a 46-year-old witch who frequents the posh restaurant at Diagon Alley, said, "They were at the table next to us. He complimented her, and she made him laugh. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was very sweet, reminded me of the time I was young and madly in love."_

The article went on to speculate more about the 'blooming Death Eater and Quidditch star romance' and how Potter would deal with this supposed heartbreak, but Draco did not bother reading it. There was only so much of Rita Skeeter's work that he could stomach; the woman was as credible a journalist as his aunt Bellatrix had been kind.

"Explain yourself," Narcissa demanded, her voice cool.

"What do you want me to say?" Draco asked with a shrug. His mother was the most important woman in his life, which is why he never lied to her unless he absolutely had to. And lying to her about Ginevra seemed like a foolish thing to do, seeing that the relationship was already in the limelight and would probably stay there for a while if that damned cow Skeeter had her way.

"Say that this is a false tale that the Prophet has concocted."

He pointedly glanced at the photograph on the front page. "Pictures don't lie, mother."

"A one-time action, then," she said. "A mistake that will never happen again."

It had been a grave error on his part, Draco realised, that he had spent such a long amount of time thinking of how the Weasleys would react to the reveal of his and Ginevra's relationship. He should have been more concerned with his own family's reaction, seeing that their utter dislike towards the red-haired clan had been no secret. "I can't say that, mother," he said.

Narcissa stilled as she studied him closely. He tried to stay as impassive as he could, but Salazar knew what she gleaned from his expression. "Do you love her?" she asked finally, apprehensively.

"No. Merlin, _no_!" Draco's response was instant, almost incredulous. As much as he enjoyed Ginevra's company, he was certain that he was not in love with her. He liked spending time with her, he was intrigued by her, but was definitely not in love with her.

"Your father would be so disappointed if he found out."

"It's a good thing that they don't deliver the Daily Prophet at Azkaban, then," he muttered, his tone more bitter than he had intended.

Narcissa shot him a look. "I will have you know that I do not approve of this nonsensical _romance_ either."

"Yes, I can see that."

"With a Weasley, of all people!" She burst out, then paused to take a deep breath to collect herself.

He reckoned that the news must really have upset her if she was so quick to lose control of her emotions. "I understand your feelings about the matt–"

She held up her hand, putting a stop to his diplomatic response. "Draco, you are no longer a child, which means it is no longer my job to reprimand you for your stupidity." Her voice was cool, and painfully so. "That being said, even _you_ must be able to see how mismatched your so-called relationship with the Weasley girl is. It will inevitably end in disaster that will not only undo the efforts you have made to restore the Malfoy name but also gain us new enemies, which is something we cannot afford. Therefore, investing any further in this folly would be unwise." She placed her napkin on the table and stood up with an air of finality, fierce eyes fixed on him. "You _will_ put an end to this unhealthy affair when you return to England, and we shall speak no more of this."

And then she stormed away, leaving Draco conflicted.

 **xx**

Draco stepped into the shower cabin in his bathroom back at the Manor, allowing the scalding hot water to run down his skin. It didn't feel uncomfortable; his body was accustomed to the high temperature that he had always preferred.

He had returned from Italy a couple of hours ago, having cut his visit short under the guise of some urgent business meeting that he had to attend. His mother probably saw through his charade, but he could not bring himself to care. They hadn't spoken of Ginevra or the Weasleys in the two days he had spent with her, but the air between them had been quite strained. Under the circumstance, Draco had deemed it best to return back home.

Was his mother right about this entire relationship being nothing but a fiasco? Of course, she was.

He had known it from the get go that pursuing Ginevra Weasley was going to be a risky move. They belonged to two very different worlds, held opposing ideals and there was a lot of history between them and their families that would be nigh on impossible to overcome. Hell, he didn't think he wanted to overcome it himself; the idea of referring to her useless brothers with anything but the aversion was appalling.

It was only Ginevra that he was accepting of, initially because shagging her against the bookshelf at his great-uncle's chateau had been a pleasurable experience, but mostly because she had managed to impress him with her fire at every turn of their somewhat banter-filled affair... But if this relationship was doomed to end badly, then perhaps it would be wise to end it as soon as possible.

Except he didn't want to. And for the life of him, he did not know why.

Engrossed in his thoughts, he allowed the hot water to soothe his muscles for a while before stepping out of the shower and walking back to his closet, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Took you long enough."

The voice caused him to turn sharply, and his heart nearly stopped. Ginevra was sitting calmly in his armchair, leafing through an ancient looking book that she had picked off his shelf. Ill-mannered, nosy hag. "This looks awfully dull," she commented.

The ' _this'_ she was referring to happened to be a manuscript detailing the unfinished experiments and untested theories of the great alchemist Paracelsus, compiled by his apprentice, Simonnet Thibault Leclère after his master's death in 1541. "That's because the ideas presented in this journal are too complex for your simpleton brain," Draco snapped as he strode over to her and plucked the precious item from her hands. There were only seven or so copies of it in existence and he had gone to great lengths to acquire one. Holding the book gingerly as if it were his child, he placed it in its proper place on the shelf (arranged both by alphabetic order and by height) before turning to face the redhead.

"Somebody is acting arseholey again. Well, more than usual," Ginevra stated, her voice laden with amusement. "Did your trip to Italy not go well? Your house-elf told me you were there, in case you were wondering."

He made a mental note to have a few words with Yugo. Just because he was romantically involved with the woman did not mean that she was allowed to know his whereabouts. "How did _your_ post-match evening go with your family?" he asked.

That question dampened her spirits, thank Salazar. "Awful, as expected. Mum and dad have been shouting at me for two days. Bill checked me to make sure I wasn't under some sort of spell. Ron won't even speak to me. And Harry…" she trailed off, an oddly sad expression flicking on her face for a moment. Then, she shook her head and raised her eyes to meet his. "I had to get away. So, I came here in hopes that you'd returned."

"Which I have."

"Which you have."

They were still for a moment, then Ginevra walked over and wrapped her arms around him. The gesture surprised him; things at her place must have really been bad if she was this desperate for comfort. "You brought this upon yourself with that reckless public display of affection before the match," he said matter-of-factly as he returned the embrace.

"Everyone was going to find out eventually," she mumbled defensively against his bare chest, the tip of her nose trailing up his collar bone as she raised her head. "You smell nice."

"I always do." He smirked.

"Git," she muttered as she placed a chaste kiss on his lips and stepped away. "So, what were you doing in Italy?"

"Visiting my mother," Draco replied and upon noticing her mildly confused look, explained, "She has been living in Tuscany for almost two years now. I go to her whenever my schedule allows."

Ginevra's eyes moved around his room, as if to gauge the vastness of it. "So, you live all alone here?" She turned back to him with something akin to pity, as if the idea was unfathomable to her. "Why did your mother leave?"

He responded with a tight shrug. It was irritating to see her act so nobly concerned, especially when she knew nothing about his family dynamic. She could take this goddamned pity of hers and choke on it, for all he cared.

"Why didn't you move abroad with her?" she asked. "You once mentioned that the Malfoy name is not the same anymore. Surely, life would have been easier for you away from here."

This time her question was a valid one. It was something he himself had pondered many times over the last few years; the idea of leaving the country, leaving his dark past and all the judgments had had its appeal. Even his parents had encouraged him to make the decision, but he had stubbornly refused to do so for one very simple reason, which he told her with no hesitation whatsoever: "This is home."

And it was. He had grown up within the walls of the Malfoy Manor, and despite everything that had happened here, the place was close to his heart. He would have been damned if he let the Dark Lord win by tainting his memories of the Manor, of if he let Potter and his blindly heroic supporters win by driving him away from the place that had been a witness to his childhood.

Draco walked to his bedside table to pick up his wand and with a single swish, sent his towel flying off his body and into his closet room, where it hung on its allocated hook. He no longer saw the point in getting dressed; with his and Ginevra's record in mind, clothes always proved to be a hindrance between them after a certain amount of time. He had no doubt that the flowery short dress that she was wearing would be coming off quite soon.

The sight of Ginevra taking in his nakedness, her cheeks getting red not out of shyness but rather the dirty thoughts that were no doubt swirling in her mind, did boost his ego nicely. He shot her a knowing smirk, then pulled back the covers and slipped into his bed. "So, should I be expecting your useless brothers to come ramming at my door and demanding retribution from me for seducing you?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Draco, it is a possibility." She kicked off her sandals and plopped onto the bed gleefully. Clearly, the idea of her brothers chasing after him with torches, shovels and wands brought her great joy. She scooted closer to him and propped herself up on an elbow. "And I'm not going to help you at all when they do. You deserve it for the little theatrical piece you did before leaving me alone."

"You're a horrible girlfriend, Weasley." He smacked her bottom playfully to get his complaint across. The reaction was instantaneous: her mouth popped open and she blushed so hard that her cheeks were almost the same colour as her hair, something the he found to be deeply amusing. "I take it you have never been spanked before."

Ginevra lowered her gaze and bit her lip nervously. He realised that this was probably the first time that she had _truly_ been shy in his presence. It reminded him of all those instances at Hogwarts when he and his friends had made fun of her silly, jumpy little crush on Potter.

"Would you like me to introduce you to the practice?" he asked, leaning forward until their faces were only inches apart. "After all, you have been very _naughty."_ Truth was, he wouldn't spank her even if she begged for it. The kink was simply not his cup of tea; he understood the fun behind a frisky smack on the bottom every once in a long while, but personally found the idea of proper spanking to be demeaning.

However, the opportunity of teasing her was too good to pass, so Draco reached out and started rubbing her bottom suggestively. Her breath hitched with trepidation – the girl was no doubt unsure of her own feelings towards the activity – and she eyed his hand as if it was a furious branch of the Whomping Willow. He couldn't help it, he started laughing at the ridiculous expression on her face.

Her body visibly relaxed. "I-If you spank me, I'll make sure you end up with bruised balls, Malfoy," Ginevra said with a bravado that had only come to her once she had realised that he was joking. When he continued to snigger, she glared at him. "My brothers were right about you being a sadistic wanker."

That helped him control his amusement to an extent. "Oh, really?" he demanded, an eyebrow raised, as he slipped his hand underneath her dress. His fingers fiddled with the waistband of her knickers for a few moments before slowly making their way up her abdomen. "And what other defamatory statements did your brothers make about me?"

She leaned forward until he could feel her breath on his face. "Let's not talk about my brothers anymore."

"Splendid idea, darling."

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, his tongue battling hers for dominion, while his fingers finally reached her breast. He tugged at her bra impatiently and, understanding the hint, she reached out behind her and undid the straps with practiced ease. Pulling it out from under her dress, she flung the undergarment somewhere over her shoulder.

Draco broke the kiss exasperatedly and reached for his wand, wondering if the girl had any manners at all. They were not rutting animals, for Merlin's sake! With a wordless swish-and-flick, he levitated her bra off the floor and neatly placed it on his armchair. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to her, ready to resume their snogging.

Only, it was her turn to pull away when he reached for her. She seemed to be deep in thought as her eyes moved rapidly from him to her bra, to his bookshelf and finally to the double doors through which his impeccable closet was still visible. A moment of silence passed, then –

"Merlin!" Ginevra exclaimed as she sat up. "You're a control freak." The conviction in her voice caused him to stiffen. "The signs were there all along, what with your over the top table manners, your calculated movements, your way of talking and your need to put everything in its proper place." Her wonder-filled gaze came to rest on him. "Draco, do you have - what's it called - OCD?"

His stomach clenched uncomfortably; he was caught completely off guard by her sudden deduction. Most people usually associated his mannerisms to his aristocratic upbringing and his somewhat dark and enigmatic personality; it was impressive that she had been able to perceive his behaviours beyond that. Impressive, but inconvenient. "Sort of," Draco admitted. Blaise had told him that he did indeed exhibit signs of obsessive compulsive disorder, and they had had several discussions on the matter. Though that was not all, was it? "But not quite. It's complicated."

Ginevra frowned, then gently lay back down next to him, her eyes boring into his. She did not say anything, and he knew that she was waiting for him to expand on his words.

Shit.

They had both learned things about each other in this relationship and it had been a pleasant experience so far, but there were secrets that Draco kept close to his heart and thoughts that he never bared to anyone. It was a simple strategy on his part: his loneliness was his self-preservation. If others discovered his thought-processes and weaknesses, they would either use him or judge, and he was not going to allow either.

In all fairness, what she had found out was not a secret; his behaviour was out in the open for all to see, and anyone with half a mind could figure out that he was indeed a control freak. But the explanation that she was currently waiting for was a glimpse into his soul.

He absently touched the Dark Mark on his arm and realised with a jolt that her eyes had caught the movement. Ginevra had seen the mark before, had even touched it during their throes of passion, but her general attitude was to pretend that it wasn't there. And he was perfectly alright with that. The war and their roles in it had been a topic of conversation that they both had religiously avoided.

Until now.

"I- I…" he trailed off uncertainly, unsure what to say or where to begin. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, keeping the words that came out of his mouth strictly contained while his thoughts ran wild. "I spent a large chunk of my life not being in control. During the war, the Dark Lord commanded me to… He told me what he wanted done, and I did it. After he fell, I was arrested and taken to Azkaban."

He had spent one hundred and seventeen days in a dingy cell, chained so heavily to the stone walls that he had barely been able to move. And the Dementors had been there – Merlin knew why the new regime had allowed their presence in the prison; maybe it had been their way of torturing Voldemort's followers – their cold seeping into his marrow, the fear chilling the blood in his veins, and all the horrible memories playing over and over in his mind until he found himself choking on the very air he breathed.

"Then, during the trial, I had to sit there while others decided what happened to me," Draco went on, curling his fingers into tight fists.

He could still remember Eloise Goldstein, the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, reading out the charges against him: _'Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are accused of serving the Dark Wizard Voldemort for a period of twenty-two months and thirteen days one of his Death Eaters. You are charged with thirty-seven counts of casting the Cruciatus Curse, two counts of casting the Imperius Curse, abetting in two attacks on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and for the attempted murders of Albus Dumbledore, Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley.'_

He had had no defence; everyone knew that he had been willing – eager, even – to join Voldemort's ranks. If it hadn't been for Potter, he would most certainly have been incarcerated. The idea of spending years in Azkaban had haunted him and, for the first time in his life, he had truly contemplated suicide. Somehow managing to die before the verdict was announced had felt like a better option than being dragged away by the Dementors.

It hadn't come to that. Mercifully, they had decided to let him go with a fine and a twelve-month probation, during which they had placed a trace on him to monitor his movements and limited the amount and types of magic he was allowed to use. Though, that had been a cage of its own, a constant reminder that he was under their power.

Draco shook himself out of his thoughts and once again fixed his attention on Ginevra, who was listening intently. "Once my probation was over, I needed to feel like I was in control. Not over people; I don't think I can do that…" he told her, wondering if he was being _too_ honest. Knowing what it felt like to practically be a slave to one master or the other, he didn't think he would ever want to dominate another living being for the sake of it. "All my mannerisms that you noticed earlier, they make me feel like I am in command of my surroundings. It keeps me grounded." He looked away, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, "Probably doesn't make much sense, but–"

"No," she interrupted, her voice exceptionally tender as she placed her hand over his. "It makes perfect sense."

He kept his gaze fixed on the wall, unwilling to meet her eyes just yet. The reasoning behind his controlling tendencies was hardly the darkest secret he kept guarded within him, but he had still bared a part of himself before someone else. It was an uncommon feeling, and an uncomfortable one; if he was being honest with himself, he would very much prefer to avoid such a tête-à-tête in the future.

"Besides," she went on in a lighter tone, "We all have odd little habits that others never understand. For example, my brothers have always judged me for eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in pairs."

"Pairs?" Draco asked incredulously. He knew she had changed the topic of conversation intentionally and was grateful for it.

Ginevra nodded, a grin on her face, as she launched into an explanation of why she did so. It had something to do with balancing the taste in case she did accidentally pick up a bad bean with a good one, such as apple with earwax, but was doubly risky as well, since it was entirely possible to have the rotten luck of picking two horrible flavours, in which case her Gryffindor courage came to her aid.

Her voice was incredibly soothing, as were the lighthearted stories she was telling him, some of which were actually quite amusing. He didn't even realise when his own exhaustion caught up with him, but somewhere in the middle of her description of an incident that involved Weaselbee, her mother's special pudding recipe and a handful of Bertie Bott's beans that tasted of sour milk, Draco drifted off to sleep...

 _He was standing in the Main Hall of the Manor and all the Death Eaters seated at the long table were eyeing him with distaste. His aunt Bellatrix stood sneering at one end while Professor Snape stood at the other, his face impassive, but his presence a minor comfort._

" _Draco."_

 _A chill crept up his spine at the smooth voice that he had learned to awe and fear. "Draco," the Dark Lord repeated, his breath warm on his ear. "Severus tells me that you played a crucial role in Dumbledore's death. But you failed to carry out the command that I gave directly to you."_

 _His heart was thudding so loudly that he wondered if everyone else was able to hear it._

 _"You disappoint me, and you leave me with no choice. Disobedience must be punished." Voldemort was now standing in front of him, his snake-like eyes observing him with interest. Decision made, he nodded towards his Death Eaters, who were always ready to please him. "The Cruciatus Curse will do. Make sure he understands that there is no room for weakness in my ranks."_

 _And then Draco was writhing on the floor, his entire being on fire. It was an agony like no other, as if he was being pierced by a thousand blades at the same time, and the pain just continued to grow. He could not stop the screams that escaped his mouth or the tears that spilled from his eyes, noticing that there were three distinct red curses flying towards him, which would explain why blood was trickling from his nose and his ears…_

 _There were other shouts of agony now, merging with his, and he noticed Granger lying not far from him. Her hand was stretched out towards him in desperation, eyes begging him to help her, to come to her aid; he could see the word 'mudblood' etched onto her skin._

 _The pain was excruciating, the guilt overwhelming, so he turned away from her, looked to the sky –_

 _Professor Burbage was suspended in the air, her lifeless body so frail. Nagini clung to her, wrapping itself around her back tighter and tighter until the woman's spine started shattering audibly._

 _And the pain still wouldn't end. The Death Eaters were resilient with their Unforgiveables, he had to give them that. Had he known this was the agony awaiting him should he fail, he would have killed Dumbledore. It was too much, too much – Merlin, please make it stop! – and he swore he would carry out all his orders if it meant avoiding this fate. He would never be weak again –_

" _But you were." The Dark Lord stood in the middle of the hall that was now empty, save for them. "Weren't you?"_

 _Draco looked at him, petrified. He was going to die. He didn't want to die. So, he turned around to run; let them call him a coward, he was perfectly alright with being a coward as long as he was a living coward. His feet weren't moving as fast as he'd like, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the Dark Lord raise his wand, a terrifying light emitting from its tip –_

A blood-cuddling scream tore from his throat as he jerked up, his body trembling violently from head to toe and his gut wrenched in a fear so real that he was finding it hard to breathe. He could feel – by Salazar's blood, he could _actually_ feel – the pain of the Cruciatus Curse in every muscle of his body.

"Draco?" A voice called out to him, so soft that he could have sworn its name was mercy but, for the life of him, he could not tell if it was real or just another cruel trick.

Gentle hands touched his cheeks and forced his head to turn to the side. He blinked rapidly and the red flashes that he had been seeing transformed into the red hair of Ginevra Weasley. "It's alright, Draco," she said, and it occurred to him that the voice had belonged to her all along. "It was just a nightmare." The room was dark, but he could make out the expression on her face. It was a mixture of alarm and pity, two things he did not need, least of all from her.

But she had witnessed him in such a sorry state, and the realisation caused shame to pool in his already unsettled stomach. He needed to get away from her, from here.

Pushing away the blankets, Draco scrambled towards the edge of the bed and reached for his wand. He summoned a pair of pyjama bottoms, but he was too shaken and somehow managed to blast half the contents of his wardrobe into a whirlwind. He watched with despair as his perfectly organised clothes were now strewn about his closet room; he was losing control. Damn it.

It was by some merciful miracle that his pyjamas did manage to fly to him. He grabbed at them and tried to slip his feet in, but his hands were still quivering quite badly, and his limbs seemed to have lost all sense of coordination. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, whether from fear or frustration, he did not know, but the sound of it was drowning out almost everything else, taunting him that he was a failure even when it came to such a menial task.

Arms wrapped around him and he flinched, only to realise that it was just Ginevra. She was kneeling behind him, her chin on his shoulder, her cheek brushing against his as she murmured nonsensical words of comfort in his ear.

Her embrace felt like a cage. He glanced around the room in panic, the walls were closing in on him and he was so, _so_ suffocated. He needed to get away. _Please_ , _Merlin_. He just needed to go there, to go and see… Draco worked his mouth, trying to tell her to not touch him, to leave him be, but the words were clogged in his throat. His thoughts were getting more and more disjointed by the second. And there were dots now, blurring his vision, dancing before his eyes.

Sweet Salazar! He was going to faint.

"Draco," Ginevra murmured.

"Draco," The Dark Lord had said.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

"No!" He shouted as he shoved her away rather violently, barely paying any attention to her cry of surprise as she fell back. He pulled on his pyjamas in one swift move and hurried over to the decanter of whiskey that sat atop his table. His quivering fingers fumbled with it for a few short moments and, upon finding no success in getting it open, he placed it back and dashed out of the room.

He stumbled down the corridors like a mad drunk, chest heaving as he gasped for air, until he burst through the large oak doors that led to the Main Hall.

Draco's eyes moved about the room. The chandeliers were new, installed right after the war ended, and there was a Persian rug before the hearth, but the rest of it was more or less the same. His mother had once suggested having the place renovated entirely, but he had flat out refused; some sick, sadistic part of him would not let anyone touch the grand table that had held so many Death Eater meetings, and he never understood why.

The table was empty now; there were no Death Eaters here, save for him. Granger was no longer writhing on the floor, and Burbage's corpse was not dangling ten feet off the ground. But most importantly, the Dark Lord was not waiting for him.

Draco was alone.

He was alive and alone and free.

The relief washed over him like a wave of icy water and he collapsed to his knees, eyes fluttering shut as the fear that had taken root inside of him ever since he had woken from his nightmare seeped out of him, leaving him blissfully empty.

In hindsight, he should have known this would happen.

He had gone to bed right after remembering some rather dark times of his life. He should have known that his sleep was not going to be peaceful, but he had been lulled into a false sense of security by Ginevra's presence. And he had paid dearly for it.

He opened his eyes, only to find a glass of whiskey blocking his view to the room. Frowning, he looked up and saw Ginevra calmly holding out the drink to him. She didn't look alarmed anymore, rather oddly understanding. The observation filled him with anger. What right did she have comforting him when she was the reason behind his panic attack? Well, that wasn't entirely true; his nightmares had become quite a common occurrence since the war and were hardly her fault, but her presence certainly hadn't been any help.

She had seen him as a broken mess of a man who wasn't even able to cope with a single bad dream. Would she tell her family about it over dinner someday? Would all those useless Weasleys have a nice laugh at how pathetic he was? The embarrassment that he had felt momentarily back in the bedroom returned to him in full force. And the fact that she was here, offering him a comfort drink that he hadn't been able to pour himself didn't do his wounded pride any favours.

He snatched the glass from her hand and hurled it across the room, where it shattered against the stone floor with a loud noise that echoed in the entire Hall. She still didn't seem surprised, only thoughtful, her brows drawn into a frown. It was infuriating.

With a growl, Draco jumped at her and they both tumbled to the floor. His fingers curled around her throat as he pinned her down, his eyes blazing with a raw rage. He should fuck her into the ground; she'd probably let him do whatever he wanted out of her ridiculously noble desire to comfort him. It would be a good distraction, if nothing else. The only problem was that he couldn't, his body was too shaken to perform like that, and they both knew it.

Well, there were other ways to get a reaction out of her. He had dropped his wand in his haste to make an escape from his bedroom, but hers was strapped to her thigh; she always kept it there whenever she wore a dress or a skirt that did not have pockets. In one swift move, Draco pulled it out of the holster and placed it against her throat, its tip digging into her soft skin. Maybe he should give her a taste of the pain he had suffered, see if she would want to be hugged and given drinks after that.

The thought, coupled with the sudden fear in her eyes, made him realise how badly he needed to rein his emotions in. He hadn't lied to her when he had told her that he would never want to truly dominate another being just for the sake of it, but nightmares about the past always left him in a dark place. Most of the time, he was alone to deal with the morbid thoughts – but Ginevra was here now and trying to help. It was not what he wanted at all.

Filled with self-loathing, Draco got to his feet and pulled her up along with him. "You need to leave," he told her as he summoned her belongings into the Hall; her wand didn't work very well for him, but it would have to do for now.

Ginevra eyed him stubbornly. "Why?"

"Because I said so," he said firmly, turning his gaze to her sandals and purse that flew in through the doors and landed neatly at her feet. He tossed her the wand back and gestured towards the hearth. "Take your things and leave. Now."

For a moment it seemed like she was going to argue, but instead she picked up her belongings and moved to the fireplace. As she took some of the Floo powder from the ceramic pot, she glanced at him once again, her lips curved incredulously as if she was finding it hard to digest his behaviour.

The look bruised his ego even more. "Ginevra," he said just as she stepped into the hearth. "Do not bother returning."

She let out a laugh at that; either she thought he was joking, or he was a joke to her. Most probably the latter. Before he could even think of inquiring the correct answer, she was enveloped in green flames.

And he was left alone, just like he wanted.

 _Shit._

 **xx**

Each passing day brought with it new conflictions, and Draco Malfoy found himself getting more and more entangled in all of them.

He had known that the carefree relationship he had formed with Ginevra was not going to last; his fates had rarely been that kind to him, but that it would end in such a manner was rather disappointing.

She had seen what a feeble creature he was, and there was no way she – a lioness who had been at the forefront of Dumbledore's Army, always standing up for what she believed in – would want to continue having any sort of involvement with a coward like him after that. And he, whose prideful image was almost as sacred to him as his family name, would never allow himself to be in a relationship where he would have to face her pity at every step.

Her departure was one of the thoughts swirling madly in his mind, the others being the Death Eaters, the morbid war and the Dark Lord. Merlin, he wanted to be rid of all of that. He wanted some peace.

He headed back to his bedroom and downed an entire vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep. The last thing he remembered before drifting off into the darkness was wondering if it was better that things with Ginevra had ended. And wishing, deep down, that they hadn't.

* * *

 **That was a dark chapter, wasn't it? Sorry about that. But it was necessary, I assure you.** **Please let me know what you thought of this installment. Your reviews matter a lot.**

 **Until next time!**

 **Cheers x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, my dear readers! Thank you for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. I am glad you're enjoying this story.**

 **Disclaimer: Potter world belongs to J.K Rowling.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 5**

* * *

Ginny Weasley had a plan.

The sudden troubles that had circled her in the shape of Draco's awful behaviour and her family's incessant outrage were tiresome. She had hoped that if she remained silent, these problems would simply go away. That hadn't happened.

Fine. She had had enough. It was time to deal with her troubles now.

 **xx**

It was a Wednesday afternoon. Ginny walked into a thirty-storey building in Canary Wharf, her tote bag swinging happily at her side. If she was going to find Draco anywhere, it would be at the main offices of the Malfoy Corporation. The location hadn't surprised her one bit; only the Malfoys would have the sheer arrogance to conduct their wizarding business from the centre of the Muggle financial district in London.

The posh entrance lobby seemed quite straightforward, but then she belatedly remembered that the Malfoys had dealings with muggles, which meant that they had to keep up a non-magical appearance on the surface. Sure enough, as she got into the lift, she noticed that more than half the floors of the building were heavily warded against Muggles to ensure that the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was upheld.

She had learned quite a bit about the Malfoy Corporation ever since she had started seeing Draco. They owned a chain of wizarding hotels and resorts across Europe, they had large investments in Muggle real estate, but their major trade was _potioneering_. The Malfoys owned factories that mass-produced various potions that were mainly used in wizarding hospitals all over the world and were one of the biggest names in the medicinal research sector.

"We are constantly working on not only the advancements of the art of potion-making, but also on developing newer and better potion-based solutions for diseases that are, as of yet, incurable," Draco had told her once. "Funny, how the press very conveniently chooses to ignore that when they discuss my family's history."

"You want to be branded a hero because you produce medicines for money?" she had asked incredulously.

He had shot her an amused but somewhat derisive look. "You honourable Gryffindors and your useless ideals of intended nobility," he sneered. "You demean my work because I run a charity to improve my family's image or produce potions for a price, but you fail to see that no matter what my intentions are, the Malfoy Corporation is still helping in saving lives."

It was alarming how he had the ability to make her rethink her ideas about ethics and morality just with a few, uniquely phrased sentences. Prat. She still wasn't sure where she stood on the whole 'intention vs. action' debate, but she could see that when it came to Draco Malfoy, things were not entirely black and white.

Though, the level of his piousness was hardly the problem at hand.

Ginny had given him four days to nurse his bruised pride after that disastrous night back at the Malfoy Manor. It had been going so well at first. He had opened up to her and they had gone to bed in each other's arms with a strange understanding lingering between them. But then, he had woken up screaming at the top of his lungs and it had all gone downhill from there…

She had been furious after leaving the Manor that night. How dare he treat her that way? She was only trying to comfort him in his moment of distress, and he had lashed out like a wounded dog and practically thrown her out, asking her never to return. That rude, ungrateful son of a bitch! It would be best if she never spoke to that arsehole again; he could go rot in the deepest pit of hell for all she cared.

But then, she realised that she would be damned if she let him push her away just because his petty little manly ego was bruised over a bad dream. For that was what had happened: she did not think he had acted the way he did just because of his nightmare. He had been troubled, of course, but he was also embarrassed that she had seen him in such a state. Well, damn him. She would not let him dismiss her so heartlessly.

Which is why Ginny was at the headquarters of the Malfoy Corporation; he had asked her not to return to the Manor, he had said absolutely nothing about his office.

She got off the lift at the topmost level and followed the signs to the CEO's office, only to be stopped by Greta, a short woman in her mid-thirties, who happened to be Draco's personal assistant and an avid reader of the gossip columns published in the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. Convincing her to let her go see Draco proved to be quite easy; who would have thought that Rita Skeeter's in-depth coverage of the Harry-Ginny-Draco romance would have its advantages?

And so, with Greta's blessing, she barged through the large double doors of Draco's office without even bothering to knock.

The room was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows providing an impressive view of the skyscrapers in Canary Wharf. Draco sat at a large mahogany desk, signing some parchments with a black feather quill. He looked up in irritation, no doubt he didn't like being disturbed, only to freeze in surprise when he saw her.

"Good afternoon, darling," Ginny said amicably, kicking the door shut behind her.

His eyes narrowed at her greeting. "I had hoped that even an unprincipled cretin such as yourself would know that it is rude to march into people's workplaces uninvited, or that it is good manners to knock before you enter," he said. "I stand corrected."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I wanted to make an entrance. Besides, I wasn't sure you'd let me in if I had announced myself."

He placed his quill into its holder. "What are you doing here, Ginevra?"

This was it: time to jump off a cliff. Her instincts told her that she would find her landing, that she knew him enough to make this gamble, but there was always a possibility of falling to one's death. She wouldn't die if things didn't go her way here, but it would certainly be over between her and Draco.

"To end things formally between us," Ginny replied calmly. He had stilled at her words, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw remorse flash across his face. Or perhaps she was seeing what she wanted to see. "What we shared for the past few weeks was lovely. Special, even. But, I don't see how we can go on after what happened the other night."

"I see." Draco stood up and walked over to her. "I hadn't realised it was so easy to scare you off, Ginevra."

"I should say the same to you." Ginny snorted. "I mean, I always knew bravery wasn't your biggest trait, but the way you handled that one tiny bad dream was disappointing. Appalling, really." She had wanted to wound him, and even though he was trying his hardest to keep his expression impassive, she could see that she had succeeded.

Truth was, it had indeed been a shocking sight, to see his usual mask of composure crumble down to reveal a quivering, cowering mess, trying in vain to hide from whatever demons haunted his dreams. She could wager a guess that the nightmare had had something to do with a certain nose-less Dark Wizard, but she wasn't sure; the Malfoys had faced hardships during the war, but what would they know of true pain or loss? She was the one who had faced the brutality of the Carrows back at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been hunted in the wilderness for almost a year. Her family had lost so much. What's the worst that Draco had faced, apart from a few verbal threats from Voldemort?

But then, in some twisted way, she also understood. Theirs was a generation that had suffered a horror-filled war and was now trying to live like normal. She remembered countless nights that she and Harry had spent holding each other after one of them had woken the other with their screaming. She knew that it was the same for Ron and Hermione, her parents, George and Angelina, Neville, Luna and almost everyone else she knew. The revelation that Draco, too, suffered from nightmares no longer felt surprising, but rather almost reasonable. And she had tried to help him that night, only to be shoved away by his massive, stupid, pointless pride.

"Well then, if you've said your piece…" Draco pointed towards the door.

Ginny frowned. That's it? Her plan had been to provoke him into lashing out, so that they would be one step closer to solving this ridiculous issue between them. His casual dismissal only meant that the relationship was truly over in his mind. She felt anger bubble inside of her, combined with an odd sadness. Was he really going to let this end over literally nothing? The desire to hex him for his stupidity grew stronger by the second, and her hand started to inch towards her pocket –

"Though I would like to point out that you are overreacting," he went on, causing her to pause. "The issue isn't really as big as you've made it. And if this is the kind of pea-brained, impetuous behaviour that you exhibit during temporary quarrels, then perhaps it is for the best that we end this relationship." He took a step closer to her, his eyes blazing with indignant fury. "For Salazar's sake, Ginevra! It was just one stupid nightmare."

"Exactly," Ginny said pointedly, resisting the urge to let out a cheer of victory. Her gamble had paid off, albeit a few moments later than she had anticipated.

Draco blinked, his brows drawn in bewilderment. "I beg your pardon?"

"It was just one stupid nightmare. There is absolutely _no_ reason why you and I should break up over it," she grabbed his chin and planted a hard kiss on his lips. Once. Twice. Thrice. "No harm done. Now, then. I brought us some Chinese takeaway. Come on, I am starving." She walked over to the sleek leather couch and sat down. With a wave of her wand, she directed the food containers and disposable cutlery out of her bag and set it neatly on the glass-top coffee table. She was pleased to note that the warming charm she had put over the food had held; she was usually horrible with those.

From the corner of her eyes, she noticed with some amusement that he hadn't moved an inch. It was obvious that he was deep in thought, no doubt trying to figure out what had just happened. He was smart, he would figure it out soon.

If there was one thing Ginny had learnt about Draco Malfoy, it was that the man loved contradicting others. She had thought that if she voiced all those petty insecurities that his pride had been whispering in his head, then he would oppose those very insecurities and realise how utterly stupid he had been to push her away in the first place.

"You manipulative wench!" Draco growled as he made his way over and sat down on the other edge of the couch. There was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well played."

Ginny grinned cheekily, very pleased with herself.

It would have been easy to use his rude behaviour as an excuse to never see him again, to let her own pride and that one squabble ruin a connection that she did genuinely like. If there was one thing she had learnt, it was that relationships required work. Sure, she and Draco were not serious - truth was, she didn't think they would ever reach the level of intimacy that she had once shared with Harry - but she truly was enjoying her time with the blond and did not want it to end anytime soon.

He smiled for a moment, then all amusement left his face. "If my actions hurt you that night, it was not my intention to do so." He reached out and took his hand in hers, his touch gentle. "I know you meant well, Ginevra, but I was finding your attentions to be quite suffocating. I am used to dealing with my nightmares on my own."

"Why didn't you just say so?" she asked, noting that he spoke of nightmares as if they were a usual occurrence for him.

"Do you think I was in a state to say anything intelligible?"

"You're never in a state to say anything intelligible," she joked lightly, then squeezed his hand in assurance. "I know now. If something like that happens again, I will keep my distance."

He nodded slowly, then leaned forward to capture her lips with his. It was a tender kiss, lacking in the fervent passion that they usually exhibited towards each other, but brimming with an oddly comfortable understanding that caused her heart to thud heavily in her chest.

"I like to be held," she whispered when they parted. "When I have bad dreams, and I do have them, I desperately need to be comforted."

"I'll keep that in mind." He promised as he turned to the food cartons, clearly intent on changing the topic of conversation. "I hope one of those contains chow mein."

It did. She knew his tastes, after all, and they spent the rest of the meal talking about random things. He told her that he had finally managed to translate that Celtic rune scroll that he had been working on for months, and that he was fascinated by the ancient folk tales in it. She told him about her tough training schedule; the Harpies were due to play against the Ballycastle Bats in a week's time.

"I will not be coming to any more Holyhead Harpies games anymore," Draco declared. "Not after what you did the last time."

"Oh, please!" Ginny rolled her eyes. "You should be thanking me; I got you to the front page of the Prophet."

"And it seems we're going to stay there for a while," He told her. She shot him a curious look, and upon noticing it, he picked up a folded copy of the newspaper from the table and passed it to her.

Sure enough, there was a photograph of their kiss at the match on the front page, but it was a smaller one this time. Most of the space was taken up by a picture of Harry and Ron at the Leaky Cauldron, with half a dozen empty glasses before them. In the photo, Harry motioned to the barkeeper for a refill while Ron shook his head lightly.

 _ **HEARTBROKEN HARRY POTTER FINDS SOLACE IN DRINK  
**_ _By, Rita Skeeter_

 _Sources have revealed that Harry Potter has developed alarming alcoholic tendencies and his behaviour has become a cause of great concern among his closest friends. His spiral into alcoholism comes from a broken heart: his ex, Ginny Weasley, announced her relationship with his school-time nemesis and ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, over a week ago._

" _Harry's angry all the time and he goes off to the pub every evening after work," A Ministry official who wished to remain anonymous told us. "He just can't get over the fact that she'd choose Malfoy over him. Everyone's tried to tell him to move on but he is just shattered. We're all very worried about him."_

 _While Miss Weasley has been enjoying the many lavish pleasures that the sole Malfoy heir is happily showering upon her (rumours are that he plans to surprise her with a luxurious romantic getaway to Maldives later this month), the hero of the Wizarding World has resorted to drinking himself into oblivion._

 _He was spotted last night at the Leaky Cauldron with his best friend, Ron Weasley, who was very disapproving of his constant reordering of drinks but was also heard expressing his disgust at his sister's relationship with an ex-Death Eater._

" _Ron wasn't happy about it, said he would never forgive her for this," a customer at the bar said. "But my heart broke for Potter. He was lamenting his break-up with Ginny, saying that he should have never let her go. Poor thing. It's obvious that he loves her very much and wanted to build a life with her."_

 _The truth doesn't seem to be far off from the observer's speculations, it seems. The Prophet has learned exclusively that there is indeed an engagement ring involved that Potter has been carrying for over a year now, in hopes of reconciling and–_

"That unspeakable hag!" Ginny exclaimed angrily as she set aside the paper and fixed her gaze on Draco. "You don't believe this rubbish, do you?"

"You forget that I was one of Rita Skeeter's sources during the Triwizard Tournament," he said, clearly finding her reaction amusing. "I am well aware of her methods and I know that she is as authentic as Dolores Umbridge was unbiased."

Oh, right. She had forgotten for a moment what an arsehole he had been back at Hogwarts. The memories of those days often made her want to whack him over the head. One of these days, she knew she probably would succumb to the desire. "Good," she said. "Because Harry's not turning into a drunk over me."

"He could try not looking so forlorn when there are cameras around," he muttered. "Or maybe Scarhead is enjoying being the 'tragic romantic hero' now that he has had his fill of being the 'courageous saviour'."

"He's not," she assured him. Harry had always hated being in the limelight and had only recently accepted the fact that he would probably never be able to escape it, a realisation that had made him no happier. "He and Ron were out drinking yesterday because they had solved this complicated case–"

"If that is what they look like when they are celebrating, I'd hate to see them mourn," Draco snorted.

Ginny shot him a look. "They were probably exhausted. Ron told me that the case had been going on for months," she told him. "But they are very happy that its solved, so much so that Ron has convinced mum to have a celebratory dinner at the Burrow this Sunday."

He hummed absently as he took a bite of a spring roll, clearly no longer interested now that the topic had nothing to do with him or insulting Harry. Merlin, he truly was a condescending arse at times.

She eyed him thoughtfully, her stomach tightening into a knot as she thought of what she was about to do. The first part of her plan had worked rather well, but the second part was as dangerous as walking over to a hippogriff and slapping it in the face. "Draco," she began hesitantly. "I, um, I was thinking–"

"That's never a good sign," he commented.

Git always had to get his word in, didn't he? She ignored his petty jibe and went on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "I was thinking that you should join us for dinner on Sunday."

"Alright," he said with a shrug.

 _Huh?_

She blinked, dumbfounded. She hadn't expected him to accept her invitation so easily. In fact, she had braced herself for insults, shouting even, but this nonchalant acceptance was mind-boggling. Maybe he had misheard her. "You agree to meet my family, then?"

Draco smiled at her. "Sure, darling."

Huh. He had heard her right, then, and still agreed to the idea. Merlin, what next, pigs learning to tap dance on their own? Maybe this was his way of making up to her for his previous behaviour, but even she knew that this was too steep a price for him. "Really?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Yes. And after that, we can go have a threesome with a Blast-Ended Skrewt." The smile vanished from his lips and he eyed her warily, as if he had just realised that she had not been joking. "Of course, I don't bloody agree!"

She found herself quite relieved at this expected reaction. His acceptance, even though fake, had been quite unnerving. And now that he was reacting the way she had expected him to, she could launch into the dialogue she had prepared. "My family still think of you as the obnoxious git you were back at Hogwarts. They've been shouting at me for days–"

"And now you want them to shout at me?" Draco demanded scornfully. "You must have lost your mind, whatever little is left of it, if you think that not only would I set foot in that dump you Weasleys call home but that I would fraternise with your loathsome family."

"They will never approve of you if they don't a chance to get to see the man that you've become."

"I suppose it is a fortunate coincidence then that I do not live for their approval."

"I know that, but I'd still like you to come." Things back at her home hadn't been very good since she had revealed her and Draco's relationship. Her parents were so disappointed in her that it was becoming hard to breathe around them. And her brothers would either ignore her completely or shout at her whenever they got the chance. Only this morning, she had received yet another howler from Charlie, in which he had demanded that she end this madness and go find some other reasonable man to date. It was all too much. "I know you cannot get along with them, but is it too much to ask that my family and my boyfriend be on civil terms, at the very least?"

"Might as well ask for Snape to jump out of his grave and start tap dancing."

"Draco–"

" _Ginevra_ ," he cut in, his voice firm. "I haven't the slightest idea what has brought this on all of a sudden, but let me assure you that I will take no part in this hare-brained scheme of yours."

She realised that reasoning was not going to work with him, not on its own; he was as proud as a bloody Horntail and asking him to play nice with her family will take more than gentle persuasion. "Mum said you'd never agree to come, that you think yourself above all of us," Ginny said as she slowly moved to sit in his lap. She had run this idea by her mother before coming here; Molly Weasley had not been pleased at the prospect, but had agreed, all the while insisting that there were better chances of hell freezing over than there were of Draco setting aside his old prejudices and visiting the Burrow. "By refusing my invitation, you're proving her right."

"Because she happens to _be_ right."

"Maybe." She hooked her fingers around the knot of his tie and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Come, anyway."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Are you planning to seduce me into submission, Ginevra? Because I would like to point out that this is the very definition of the term 'whoring yourself'." He grabbed her thigh and turned her with relative ease so that she was straddling him. "But by all means, do give it a go."

"Draco Malfoy, did you just call me a whore?" Ginny buried her fingers in his hair and pulled it back roughly. "There will be consequences if you did."

"I'm terrified," he said, his lips curled into a trademark Malfoy smirk that she had grown to sort of like. A bit. He was still an aristocratic prat, though.

"As you should be," she told him as she placed a kiss on his exposed throat. "Doesn't it matter to you what your parents think of us?"

"I shudder to imagine how my father would react when he finds out," he responded. "My mother did read the tale of our so-called love in the Prophet. She commanded me to end things with you and put an end to our 'unhealthy affair', as she called it."

That gave her pause. She wondered if that was the reason why he had almost thrown her out of the Manor the other night. If it was, then this reconciliation between them would most certainly come to an end; she could forgive his PTSD because it was beyond his control, but if he had succumbed to his mother's orders, then he could damn well go find himself some other girlfriend.

As if he could read her thoughts, Draco cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I did not obey her," he assured her solemnly. She could tell by his tone that he was not lying. "And have no intention of doing so. Unless you keep on coming up with ridiculous ideas that could potentially get me killed."

Ginny leaned into his touch. "I don't want this to end either," she admitted slowly. "And I want my family to see that I'm not some foolish girl blinded by your charm and that we do have a relationship based on mutual admiration and respect, even though you do act like a lewd wanker most of the time."

"Since you've accused me already, I think it is only justified that I live up to the title." He said with a smirk as he placed his lips upon hers in a passionate kiss that caused hundreds of butterflies to flutter in her stomach. She had thought that this intoxicating effect that he had on her would go away after their first few times together, but it only seemed to grow stronger every time she felt his touch. And though she would never admit it out loud, she did like it very much.

"Draco," she sighed softly when they parted, her forehead resting against his. "Come to dinner."

"Gine–"

"For me," she insisted, her voice low. "And if that isn't enough then think how furious Ron will be to see you there." Her entire family would not be pleased to see him there, of that she had no doubt, but she had only mentioned Ron because she knew of the enmity between them; there was no way Draco would give up such a perfect opportunity to irritate him.

His blue-grey eyes were twinkling with mirth, as if he could tell the reasoning behind her words. "Your mouth has been in fine fettle today, Weasley. I think I'll have to put it to _better_ use once I survive that thrice-damned meal with your wretched family."

Ginny felt her cheeks getting red at his words. Goodness, he had just implied what she thought he had implied. The man was arrogant, control-freak, aristocratic arsehole, but a man nonetheless; of course, his bloody world would revolve around a blowjob. And if he thought he could – _Wait, what?_

'Once I survive the thrice-damned meal', he had said.

"You mean…?" she asked and realised a moment later that she was inadvertently holding her breath.

Draco looked like he was bracing himself for an oncoming storm, which he probably was. Then, he said, "Yes. I will come to your stupid family dinner."

She had known that it would be nearly impossible to get him to agree, so his agreement did come as a surprise, but what caught her completely off guard was the glee she felt. It was almost pathetic that she was starting to act so soppy because of him, but in that moment, Ginny did not mind it one bit. She grabbed his face and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, practically bouncing with giddiness.

"Pull yourself together, Ginevra," he reprimanded, though he did pull her closer and buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I will want my prize afterwards."

"Prize or price?" she asked with a laugh. "Who's the whore now, Malfoy?"

The words had barely left her mouth when the button of her jeans popped open. She blinked in surprise and looked down, only to find his fingers slowly pulling the zipper down. How had his hand managed to make its way there without her noticing? Draco's breath was warm on her ear and she could practically hear the sneer in his husky voice as he said, "Still you."

 **xx**

Molly Weasley had held off the announcement of Draco's invitation till the last minute and had only dropped this bomb of sorts on her husband and children when they had all arrived for dinner on that very day. It was something Ginny had been exceptionally grateful for because, needless to say, the reception of the news had been as horrible as she had imagined. The living room at the Burrow had gone silent as a graveyard for a few moments as everybody digested the information, and then angry shouts had erupted all at once.

For her father, the idea that Lucius Malfoy's condescending son was to be their guest was beyond humiliating, and he told her flatly that he was very disappointed in her. Bill once again expressed his concern about Ginny being under some sort of spell. Fleur, much to Ginny's surprise, actually seemed excited at the prospect of seeing Draco. "I know 'im," she told everyone. "He waz one of my clients at Gringotts for a little while. He speakz such good French, like a natural–" She would probably have raved about the blond a bit more, but clamped her mouth shut when she noticed the murderous glares her in-laws were sending her way.

Percy had expressed his relief that his beloved Audrey was not in town (on ministry business, of course; she was just as much of a workaholic as her husband was) and would not have to face that prejudiced, spoiled Death Eater. He was quick to point out that Draco was using Ginny for her connections and that she would be wise to reconsider her relationship with him. There were a few high-ranking ministry officials that he could introduce her to, if she was interested. George had rubbed his hands and went to his old room with a promise that he would give their esteemed guest a welcome to remember. That did not bode well for Draco, Ginny mused. Or anyone else, really.

Ron had announced that he was leaving. "There is no way in hell that I'll sit at a table and share a meal with a man who made my life miserable at Hogwarts." He shouted, his face red with fury as he glared at Ginny. "How could you?"

"He is not that person anymore," Ginny shouted back. She had tried to remain calm, but after a while, it became too hard to keep her temper in check. "You'll see."

"I don't bloody want to. How could you forgive that ferret for all the things he did to us, for all the shitty things he said about 'Mione?"

She had had no response for that. Truth was, she hadn't entirely forgiven Draco's past behaviour and he had made no apology for it, but there was an odd regret in his eyes, one that he tried to constantly hide due to his damned ego – and there was a will to do good things, like he was doing with Serenity or his work in potions. Sure, he didn't have the noblest intentions at heart, but she could not bring herself to believe that his motives were entirely selfish. Draco Malfoy had once been a horrible human being, but she had come to know him enough over the past few weeks to know that he deserved a chance.

Hermione was quick to calm Ron down and to convince him to stay – something about how Malfoy's presence shouldn't ruin their evening – but then she had pulled Ginny aside and lectured her on the wisdom, or lack thereof, of dating a Malfoy.

Perhaps the worst reaction had been Harry's. He hadn't spoken a word throughout the entire argument and he continued to remain silent even once things had calmed down a bit. But every now and then, she would feel his gaze piercing into her, his emerald eyes brimming with a feeling she recognised as betrayal. It tore her heart out, and she wanted nothing more than to run away and weep.

But she stayed and put on a brave, defiant face. Draco would arrive soon and, hopefully, not act like the utter arsehole that he was. Whether the evening went well or not, things would most certainly simmer down after a confrontation – either her family would see that Draco was not a villain anymore and would be mollified, or they would still vilify him but see that she had no intention of ending things with him.

A part of her knew that it was a rash move on her part, but this meeting was bound to happen sooner or later. _Better sooner than later,_ she thought. She wanted to be done with it.

The mood in the Burrow continued to remain odd, for lack of a better term. Everyone was trying to act normal, joke around and express their genuine happiness for Harry's and Ron's success in the Auror Department, but the underlying tension in the air grew more and more tangible by the minute. Half the people sat stiffly, and there were occasional glances thrown in the direction of the main door.

Ginny found her own gaze flicking to her wrist watch every few minutes, wondering where Draco was. She hadn't seen him since the day she had visited him at his office – she had been drowning in practices, and he was having a busy week due to some business deal he was trying to close – but she had sent him an owl two days before, reminding him of the dinner. His reply had been short and swift:

 _Nobody forgets the Doomsday, darling. I will be there by 6.30 pm.  
_ _– D.M._

It was 7 pm and he hadn't shown up yet, which was disconcerting in itself because he loathed tardiness. "Five minutes I understand, but any longer than that tests my patience more than I'd like." He had lectured her when she had shown up fifteen minutes late to their lunch date. It had been a meal filled with his usual nasty taunts until she had managed to shut him up with threats of her infamous bat bogey hex.

Ginny made a few excuses and managed to hold off dinner for another quarter of an hour, but her mother would not be convinced beyond that. The Weasleys descended upon the meal with their usual fervour, and sometime after the dessert was served, her brothers decided to remind her that she had indeed been stupid to think that Malfoy would ever come to the Burrow for her.

"That's what I told her, and why I let her invite him to our home," her mother said as she held out a bowl of chocolate mousse towards her. "You see, Ginny dear, this ridiculous infatuation of yours has no future. I'm sure you'll see some sense now."

She had taken the damned mousse and kept her mouth shut, the blood in her veins burning with anger. Draco had promised her that he would come and yet here she was, listening to her family talk about how she was a fool to place her trust in a man who was very clearly a self-serving liar. She was beyond humiliated, and it was all his fault.

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley had had a plan.

The first part of it was to reconcile with Draco, which she had accomplished. The second part was to formally introduce him to her family as her boyfriend. It had been a big step, and she had been willing to take it for him.

But he had left her alone and embarrassed. His old petty enmity meant more to him than their relationship.

So be it, Ginny decided. She would go to him one final time, pin his arse to a chair with a sticking charm so powerful that his skin would peel off when he tried to get up, and demand an explanation of his absence. In fact, she'd use the sticking charm even if he talked willingly. The arsehole had stood her up. Now, she would make sure that he'd have trouble sitting down.

* * *

 **Life has been awfully busy as of late and I wrote the second half of this chapter in a hurry, which I'm sure is obvious. I'm sorry about that, but I promise the next chapter will be better. Lots of surprising stuff is going to happen!**

 **I still hope you enjoyed this. Please, please leave a review and let me know!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, readers. Thank you for the lovely reviews. Here I am with a quick update and I hope you will enjoy it!**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 6**

* * *

The phrase ' _things have taken quite a turn_ ' was an accurate summary of Ginny Weasley's life these days. She probably deserved an award for valor for juggling her whirlwind of a love life, her family's wrath and her Quidditch career. And it seemed that things were not going to settle down anytime soon.

Merlin, help her.

 **xx**

Draco Malfoy had taken refuge in a Burmese monastery.

That was one of the five possibilities that Ginny had conjured to explain Draco's absence. It was the afternoon after that horrendous dinner where the arsehole had been a no-show, and she was slowly making her way through the orchard towards the Burrow, sulking over her failure to locate her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend.

After sending him a bunch of rather colorful howlers in the morning, she had dropped by the Malfoy Corporation, only to be told by Greta that Draco was not in his office. "He hasn't been in since Saturday afternoon," the assistant had said. "I thought he had gone off to Maldives with you."

"Maldives?" Ginny asked blankly.

"Oh, yes. Didn't the Prophet say that the two of you were going on a romantic getaway?"

"Ah. _That_." Ginny had forced a smile as her brain formed some choice words for Rita Skeeter. Somebody ought to snatch that quick quotes quill from that ugly cow and rid the world of those false articles she published almost every other day. "We're not going anywhere because of… um, my Quidditch schedule."

"Of course." Greta smiled widely. "You make such a beautiful couple, Miss Weasley. I mean, I-I think you and Mr. Potter were lovely together and I'm saddened to hear that he is not taking this news so well, but I do believe that you and Mr. Malfoy are much more suited together."

"Thank you," Ginny said politely, hoping that her impatience would not show on her face. The last thing she wanted was to have her relationship with Harry compared to that with Draco. It was hard enough to keep those comparisons to a minimum inside her own head, especially when she was mad at that blond wanker. "Do you, um, know where I can find Draco?" Upon noticing the suspicious expression on the elder woman's face, she quickly added, "I've been busy because of my training so I thought I'd drag him off for an impromptu date."

Greta nodded, as if she had expected that to be the reason behind her visit. "I'm afraid I've no idea where Mr. Malfoy is," she said grimly. "I sent an owl to the Manor last night – he's missed a couple of meetings and people were asking for him, you know? – and I only got a reply an hour ago saying that he is busy and will get in touch when he can."

The next obvious stop on her 'Malfoy hunt' was the Malfoy Manor. Yugo the house elf had admitted her into the foyer very graciously and then told her with great regret that Draco was not at home.

"Lies," she had said as she moved past him and started up the staircase. "I'm sure that coward is hiding somewhere in this damned place."

"He is no here, Miss. Yugo swears it." The elf jogged hurriedly to catch up with her longer strides and was panting by the time he reached her. "Master sir no come home since day before yesterday."

She halted at that and eyed the creature dubiously, noting that he seemed to be telling the truth. If Draco had gone off on some business trip, then Greta would have known. And if he was off on a personal errand, such as visiting his mother, then the elf would have told her, just like he had done last time. "Where is he, then?"

Yugo shifted on his feet, his large eyes darting around uneasily. "Y-Yugo can't say, Miss." The elf clasped his hands together earnestly, his voice pleading. "Master sir said not to tell anyone where he goes, but he no here. You can check, Miss."

"Tell me where he is." Ginny demanded angrily. She already hated herself for chasing after that blond twat, and she absolutely refused to play this goddamned game of hide-and-seek anymore. She was going to see him, give him a piece of her mind and then end this stupid chapter once and for all.

"Can't, Miss." Yugo insisted. The creature's voice remained polite as ever, but he straightened his shoulders a bit, as if to indicate that he was standing his ground. "Sorry, Miss, but Yugo serves Master Draco sir. Yugo do as he asks."

Had circumstances been different, she would have been impressed with the elf's loyalty. In that moment, she was only irritated. But it was quite clear that there was no point in arguing any further; the elf was not going to give up any information. Disgruntled, she had made her way back to the foyer and paused by the door. "Tell your beloved _Master Draco_ that the next time I see him, I'm going to skin him."

"Nothing new about that, Miss," Yugo said with an understanding nod.

She halted, brows drawn in confusion. "What?"

"You and Master, Miss," he explained. "You skin each other." As if to demonstrate, the elf wrapped his arms around himself, fingertips digging into the skin of his arm, and made small squelchy kissing sounds.

Ginny flushed, her mouth dropping open. _Sweet Merlin_ , Yugo thought that she had come her for _that._ And he appeared to be quite privy to her and Draco's private activities, which was surprising considering that they had limited their rutting to the confines of his bedroom... though there had been that one time in the living room. Her cheeks grew warm as she recalled lying on the beautiful vintage settee, her chest heaving and moans of encouragement on her lips as she buried her fingers in Draco's hair, planting his face firmly between her legs. Had Yugo just assumed about their activities or had he seen them in their throes of passion?

If this were any other situation, she would have kindly explained to the elf what skinning actually meant, but after that particular flashback, it became awfully hard to meet the creature's eyes. The best thing to do was to leave with a huff of indignation, which she did.

After the mission 'find Draco and nail his arse to a chair' had failed, Ginny had apparated to the orchards by the Burrow and had started making her way back on foot, taking the time to draw up a list of possibilities that would explain the whereabouts of her useless boyfriend.

 _ **1.** Draco had forgotten about the dinner and was now taking refuge in a Burmese monastery to escape her wrath._  
 _ **2.** Draco had gone for a walk when a meteor had fallen from the sky and landed on top of him._  
 _ **3.** Draco had been kidnapped by a band of pirates and was somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea._  
 _ **4.** Draco had been cuddled to death by a poffle of puffskeins, possibly becoming the first man in the world to die by excessive embrace._  
 _ **5.** This whole relationship had been a joke to him from the beginning, and Draco was off at a strip club in Vegas with a bunch of his Slytherin mates, laughing at how easy it had been to seduce the stupid Weasley girl._

The last one caused her heart to ache. That was what her family had insisted was the explanation – that a Malfoy would never treat a Weasley with respect, would never deem them his equal, that he was only playing with her feelings – and she had refused to believe it so far. The connection between her and Draco had felt real. But was it?

From what she had observed, Draco treated his appointments with a dedication that was almost religious. And if he had to diverge from his schedule, he always sent word beforehand, like he had done once or twice with her before. Why, then, would he promise to meet her family, insist via owl that he would be there, and then simply not show up?

Ginny was unable to come up with an answer to that by the time she entered the living room, and was mercifully distracted by the sight of her mother frantically putting on her coat. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Oh good, you are back," Molly said as she hurried over to the fireplace. "Ron flooed. Hermione is in the hospital."

 **xx**

Thankfully, it hadn't turned out to be anything too serious.

Hermione, who became the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures two years ago to nobody's surprise, had been involved in a ghoul related incident. Utterly disgruntled that the incident had occurred in the first place, she had refused to explain what had happened and how she had ended up with a sprained wrist and a deep gash on her cheek.

The healers had already fixed her up and were well on their way to discharge her by the time Ginny and her mum reached St. Mungo's.

"Thank goodness you're alright," Molly said, relief evident in her voice. She had insisted that they all returned to the Burrow, where she would have a proper chance to pamper her daughter-in-law to be. Hermione had claimed that she felt fine and there was no need to worry, but the prospect of freshly baked scones caused Ron to agree to the idea in less than half a minute. "Ron scared me half to death with his–"

"Ron is a bit of a drama queen." Hermione shot an accusatory glance to her fiancé, who was gallantly helping her down the hallway.

"I only got a memo saying you'd been in an accident and they were taking you to the hospital," Ron mumbled defensively, wrapping an arm around her. "Scared me half to death, 'Mione."

Hermione tried to look indignant but failed completely; it was obvious that she was pleased by his concern. "Like I said, drama queen," she mumbled and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

Ginny followed them with a smile on her face. It had taken a ridiculously long time for this couple to come together – Harry had told her of the awkward times he had spent being sandwiched between them, and of the worst possible time they had chosen to have their first snog – but once they had confessed their feelings, they had been inseparable. They were to be married in winter, and Hermione had already asked her to be her chief bridesmaid. It would be a lovely event, no doubt, and doubly special for her because the brother she was closest to was going to marry one of her dearest friends.

"Malfoy."

The name snapped her out of her musings and she looked up to realise that the others had stopped walking. Molly turned to her, brows furrowed with a mixture of confusion and question. "That's him, isn't it?"

Bewildered, Ginny followed her mother's gaze and peered through the open door to their left. It was a private hospital room, one that probably costed a lot, with a large shuttered window, a painting of a waterfall hanging on the wall and comfortable leather armchairs. She, of course, noticed none of that; her eyes were fixed on the patient laying in bed.

She had recognized him instantly, having spent countless minutes observing that crafted jawline and his blond hair rather intimately over the last few weeks, but it was his state that kept her rooted to the spot in shock. He looked terribly frail, with his skin was ghostly pale and his hands visibly shaking as he downed a vial of what appeared to be sleeping draught under the supervision of a very stern-looking Blaise Zabini, who was no doubt serving as his healer.

"That _is_ him," Hermione confirmed. She sounded taken aback. "God. He looks ill."

That was an understatement, but it lurched Ginny out of her shock and spurred her forward. She marched into the room, her sudden entrance catching both Slytherins off-guard.

Draco's eyes met hers for a moment before moving on to her family, who had followed her. "No," he said in a hoarse whisper as he tried to sit up, swaying dangerously as he did so.

Zabini grabbed him by the shoulders and firmly pushed him back onto the pillows. "Stay down," he ordered, then fixed his glare upon her. "What do you think you're doing, Weasley?"

Ginny ignored the furious question and walked closer to the bed, noting with some alarm that Draco appeared to be in a much worse condition up close. His chalk white lips were chapped and his breathing shallow. He blinked owlishly as if his vision was blurred and he was having trouble focusing on anything in particular. She reached out and placed her hand atop his, only to jerk it back in surprise. His skin was burning. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"An infection," Zabini answered shortly, his gaze fixed on his blond friend. The two seemed to engage in a silent conversation for a couple of seconds before he looked at her. "It's not contagious."

"That is an IV drip," Hermione stated.

Ginny looked up and, sure enough, there was a bag of transparent liquid attached to Draco's arm with a tube. She had seen it before in one of those horrible muggle dramas that Harry liked to watch on television – 'guilty pleasure', he had called it – and knew that it was a muggle device used to administer medicine to patients.

"Yes, it is," Zabini said shortly. "Now, if you'd please–"

"Why do you have him on IV?" Once again Hermione voiced Ginny's curiosity. Merging muggle medication with the wizarding kind was not unheard of, but it was quite uncommon.

"I don't ask you how you do your job, Granger. Do not ask me how I do mine." The dark-skinned man sneered, looking very much like the conceited teenager he had been back at Hogwarts.

As expected, Ron's response to this was heated, which led to a small back and forth between the former Slytherin and Gryffindor. Ginny focused her attention back on Draco, who had succumbed to the sleeping potion. His lips were pressed tight in a grimace, indicating that he was in pain or uncomfortable. Possibly both. She didn't know enough about magical infections, but it was common knowledge that some – not all – of them were not to be taken lightly. "How did he get sick?" she asked, interrupting the pointless quarrel. "And what sort of infection is this?"

"I'm afraid I am not at liberty to discuss his treatment with you, since you are not his family." Zabini eyed her for a moment, as if he was sizing her up, then continued with some reluctance. "However, I can tell you that he has been here since Saturday evening, and should recover perfectly in a day or two. That is, _if_ he pulls his head out of his arse and listens to me."

" _That_ seems unlikely," she couldn't help but joke.

"Quite." His lips twitched with amusement. He glanced at his unconscious friend, then back at her. "He won't be up for at least a couple of hours. I can have word sent to you when he wakes, if you want."

A few weeks of enduring Draco had taught her enough about Slytherins; she knew that this was as close one of them, especially one as arrogant as Blaise Zabini, could come to actually holding out a hand of friendship. She appreciated it and considered his offer for a moment or two, but she knew that she would be incredibly restless if she left the hospital. "I'd like to stay with him, if that's alright."

That gave Zabini pause, as if he had not expected her to volunteer to stay by Draco's side, but he was quick to cover up his surprise with a nonchalant shrug. "As long as you don't disturb his slumber." He took his leave after a swift goodbye, promising to check up on his friend after an hour's interval.

Ginny turned to her family then, trying to read the expressions on their faces. Hermione seemed curious, Ron irritated, and her mother oddly concerned. "You go on," she told them, her voice filled with a hint of pleading. She hoped they'd understand her position and not start an argument over past enmities in this hospital room. "I'll come home when I can."

They were not happy with her decision, that much was obvious, but her mother mercifully agreed to it before Ron could create a scene. In a matter of minutes, she was left alone with Draco. She sank into the leather chair next to the bed and took his hand in hers, her eyes fixed on his face and her heart filled with a whirlwind of emotions that she could not have named even if her life had depended on it.

 **xx**

 _The clash of the serpents._

That would be an apt name for the very interesting argument Ginny had had the pleasure of witnessing in the hospital when her sick arsehole of a boyfriend had woken up and had decided to quarrel with his haughtily logical healer best friend.

Once the sleeping draught had worn off, Draco had demanded to be discharged, and the fact that he had barely been able to speak, let alone move, had not hindered his order at all. Zabini, who had unfortunately been checking up on the blond at the time, had pointed out that he was in no state to go home and that it would be better if he stayed in the hospital for another day.

Draco, being the stubborn git that he is, had ignored that very reasonable advice and had signed the ' _against healer's advice_ ' discharge form anyway. An outraged Zabini had then offered to perform a pro bono procedure on him that would "remove the thick broomstick from his fat hind side" and would, as a result, cause him to be "less of a confounded nuisance to society in general".

The two friends had then resorted to carrying out the rest of their argument in a mixture of Italian and French, which annoyed her since she had been enjoying their very creative play of words. But finally, Zabini gave in – not that he had any other option; he couldn't have kept a patient in hospital against his will – and suggested that Narcissa Malfoy be informed of her son's condition, something that Draco had rejected with a firm tone that left no room for argument.

"I can stay with him," Ginny had volunteered. "If you're worried that he'll have no one to look after him."

Draco had once again protested, or tried to, but he had ended up with a violent coughing fit that had left her alarmed and more adamant than ever to stay by his side. She was Molly Weasley's daughter, after all, and had an in-built urge to pamper others, even if said others happened to be unspeakable wankers. Besides, there was no way poor Yugo would be able to take care of this blond man-child all by himself.

And so, they had returned to the Malfoy Manor later that evening, where Yugo had done an efficient job of helping his 'Master Draco sir' into his pajamas and putting him in bed. Ginny couldn't help but be impressed by the elf's devotion, considering the fact that he was no longer a slave bound to the servitude of the Malfoys but rather a paid employee (the House Elf Liberation Act had been one of the first things the Wizengamot had passed once Hermione had taken charge of her department).

"Y-You should go," Draco rasped once the elf had left the room, his glazed eyes fixed on her.

Ginny took off her shoes and crawled onto the bed stubbornly. "You can't just order me away whenever you want," she told him. "And if you don't like my presence here, you are welcome to physically kick me out yourself."

"Would if I could," he muttered.

She lay down next to him with a hum of amusement. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers against her cheek. It was ridiculous that he had checked himself out of proper medical care; he was burning with fever and his skin clammy. "You're hot," she stated as she needlessly readjusted his blankets, her words almost a reprimand.

"Y-Yes, I am." A hint of a smirk appeared on his lips as his eyes fluttered close.

Even in sickness, the bastard was as smug as ever. She could not decide if she found that more endearing or infuriating, but then again that could be the tagline of their entire relationship. Torn between the urge to either hug him or choke him, Ginny opted for the third option of remaining silent and watched him as he drifted off to what was clearly an uneasy sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she had been curled up on the couch, engrossed in Draco's copy of the biography of Joscelind Wadcock, famous Puddlemere United chaser, when the blond woke up with a loud groan, his body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. She moved to get up but then stopped, thinking that maybe it was another nightmare; he had asked for space, and she would give it to him.

She watched him roll onto his side, arm curled around his middle and let out a cry – and realized that his shivering was not a remnant of some bad dream but actually spasms of pain. Rushing over to him, Ginny placed her hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"H-Hurts," He managed to sputter as he blindly reached out for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist so tightly that she was certain it would leave a bruise.

"Where does it hurt?" She asked as she eyed him helplessly. The pain was located somewhere in his abdomen, but she couldn't be sure. She still had no idea what sort of infection this was and how exactly it was affecting him. Honestly, Zabini was a shite healer if he thought that it was not important to educate her about his–

The thought of Zabini sent a jolt through her as she remembered that the healer had handed her a small cardboard box of medicines he had prescribed to Draco before they had left the hospital. With a wave of her wand, she summoned the box to her and looked through it. Two vials of sleeping draught, a calming potion – would that help in the current situation? – and a vial containing an orange liquid labelled 'Pain Relieving Potion'.

She uncorked the bottle and held it to Draco's lips. "Here, drink this."

He didn't even ask her what it was, only chanced a single glance at the potion and then gulped it down with the same urgency that a man dying of thirst would have latched onto a cup of water. He rested his head back on the pillows with a grunt when he had finished draining the vial, his face scrunched up in agony as shudders ran through his torso.

She did not know how long the potion would take to dull his pain, or how long it would last, but what she knew was that it had been intense enough to make him cry; the tear tracks on his cheeks were visible even in the dim light. "I'm going to take you back to the hospital," she declared. It seemed like the logical thing to do, and Zabini had instructed her to bring him back if his condition took a turn for the worse. This was definitely worse.

"N-No," Draco gasped as he hitched his knees up against his stomach, curling up into a ball. "G-Give… time."

Ginny had often wished for a day when she would see the git unable to form sentences, but she had always meant it in a more 'tongue-tied' way rather than a 'dying in agony' way. With a sigh, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He leaned into her touch, the slight lightening of his features indicating that he found it to be somewhat soothing. Her lips curved into a small smile at that, and she continued to scratch abstract patterns on his scalp with her fingertips until he fell asleep once again.

Draco's fever broke an hour or so before dawn. He was drenched in sweat, but the grimace slipped away from his lips and he seemed much calmer in his slumber. Relieved, Ginny placed a soft kiss on his brow and settled down next to him, allowing herself some rest now that the need for her to stand in vigil had evaporated.

The pleasant aroma of smoked salmon and eggs woke her up. She looked around groggily, her brows drawn into a frown. The drapes were pulled halfway back, allowing bright sunlight to flitter in through the windows, and the space next to her on the bed was vacant. She berated herself for nodding off and wondered if he was alright.

As if on cue, Draco's voice reached her ears. "Oh, you're awake." He sounded much better, she noted as she propped herself up to find him seated at the couch, a fork in his hand and a tray of breakfast sitting on the table before him. He was dressed in a fresh pair of pajamas and a t-shirt, his hair slightly damp as if he had taken a shower not long ago. Though he did seem to be a bit weak, some colour had returned to his cheeks and he did not appear to be in any pain anymore. "Breakfast?"

Her stomach rumbled in response to his offer, and she realized how hungry she was. She had skipped out on a couple of meals due to obvious distractions the day before. "You look much more human," Ginny stated as she got off the bed to join him.

"I _feel_ much more human."

"Well, that is good to know."

"I must thank you for last night, Ginevra," he said as he prepared a fresh cup of tea for her. "I appreciate your kindness greatly, though you shouldn't have gone through the trouble. I'm certain Yugo and I would have managed perfectly on our own."

"Hmm." She observed him over the rim of her cup. "And you are alright now?"

"I think I am," he replied, leaning back comfortably. "But I shall take the day off work to rest some more. It will help me appease Blaise after the stunt I pulled yesterday; no doubt he is still mad at me."

"No doubt he is," Ginny said with forced calm as she placed her cup on the table. Now that she was satisfied that he was not going to collapse into nothingness at the slightest nudge, the anger she had felt towards him before she had encountered him at the hospital was slowly making its way back to the forefront of her mind. "As am I. You stood me up."

Draco tilted his head to the side as he eyed her with incredulity. "I was in the hospital. Surely, you cannot blame me for–"

"No, I don't. You were sick, so you couldn't come."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't send word to me–"

"You saw how terribly ill I was." His voice made it clear that he thought her insane. "Forgive me if sending you an apology for missing out on your wretched family dinner was not my topmost priority at the time."

"Oh, fuck the dinner!" Ginny snapped, unable to control her temper anymore. She knew him to be an intelligent person; surely, he couldn't be so clueless as to what it was that was truly bothering her. "Why didn't you tell me you were so sick? Merlin! You'd been in the hospital for almost three days and I only found out about it because I happened to see you there by chance."

"Don't get so emotional, Ginevra," he scoffed dismissively, as if he found the reasoning behind her anger to be petty. "In case you haven't noticed, I didn't even inform my own mother about my ailment."

With a growl, she bunched her hand in the front of his t-shirt and pulled him close so that their faces were only inches apart. He seemed startled by her sudden action, his eyes widening in surprise – and hopefully, a bit of fear. "Listen to me, Malfoy. I don't give a rat's arse about what you do and don't tell your mother. That dysfunctional relationship is between you and her," she told him heatedly. "But I am your bloody girlfriend and I expected to be treated as such."

She wanted him to understand that she was not some harlot that he was shagging whenever he felt the desire, she was his equal partner in a proper relationship. If he thought for a single moment that his communication with her was limited to preponing or postponing their dates and very conveniently omitting vital instances like this, then he was greatly mistaken.

"Had our places been reversed, I'd have ensured that you were among the first people to be informed of my condition. You will show me the same damn courtesy in the future or, so help me God, I will kick your balls so hard that they'll travel all the way up your intestines and get lodged in your fucking throat. Do I make myself clear?" At her words, Draco's eyes flared up with self-righteous indignance and he shifted slightly in an attempt to free his shirt from her grasp. She tugged hard at it. "Do I?" she asked again, her voice laden with a promise of retribution should his answer not please her.

"Yes, yes. _Alright_!" He agreed with a huff. "It won't happen again!"

"Good," she said sweetly as she let go of him, watching with some amusement as he scooted as far away from her as he could without falling off the end of the couch. It was obvious from the expression on his face that his stupid ego was once again wounded, and she couldn't have cared less about it. Instead, she fixed her attention on the scrambled eggs and salmon that was mercifully still warm.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, during which she devoured her breakfast and he sipped at his tea, sending wary glances her way from time to time. Finally, he said, "You have a vicious temper, Weasley."

"And don't you forget it," she replied smugly, for once feeling immensely proud of the infamous Weasley wrath that had even the brave Harry Potter scurrying out of her way as fast as he could. Changing the topic of the conversation a bit, she asked, "So, are you going to tell me what exactly was wrong with you?"

Draco stilled, his lips pressed together tightly in clear indication that he disliked the topic she had chosen. "I was experimenting with a potion and I must have messed it up. There were these fumes and next thing I know, I was in pain… I'd rather not talk about it, if that's alright with you." He finished his tea and set his cup down. "Did my absence cause much trouble for you at dinner?"

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I will make it up to you," he promised. His eyes moved about the room, and it looked like he was deep in thought. "Perhaps you should ask your parents if they're still willing to meet me."

Ginny blinked in surprise. "What? No!" She had learnt after that disastrous night that it had been a rash decision on her part to invite Draco in the first place. Neither her family nor he were ready for a face-to-face confrontation; their mutual hatred was too strong and would most probably result in a fiery quarrel, if not bloodshed. "You really don't have to –"

"I insist," he said, reaching out and placing his hand atop hers. "I'd love to have them over for dinner."

"I don't think that would be wise," she said politely. As admirable as his attempt at chivalry was, the only way her father would be setting foot in Malfoy Manor for a cordial meal would be if she put him under the Imperius Curse. Maybe not even then.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for his lips curved into a small smile. "See if they'd be willing to host me, then. Or perhaps we could dine at a restaurant."

That might actually work, she mused. A restaurant would be a public setting, meaning that both sides would be on their best behavior and less likely to cause a scene. But if something did go awry then the result would be disastrous, considering that Rita Skeeter's eyes were apparently everywhere these days. She, personally, didn't care what the wizarding community thought of her, but she knew that the Malfoy image meant a great deal to Draco. This proposed meeting posed a risk to it. "Really, there is no need for this." Ginny tried again, hoping that he would just agree with her. "I don't see why you're so adamant–"

"When you visited me in my office the other day, you made it quite clear that this meeting was important to you," he said calmly as he raised her hand to his lips and placed a small kiss on her skin. "It's the least I can do for you, Ginevra."

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips on its own volition. _Merlin._ Would she never truly understand this man? One minute he acted like a condescending arsehole who didn't deem it important to tell her what went on in his life, and the next he was willing to walk into the lion's den – almost literally – just because it meant a great deal to her. Her heart melted at his words, along with any remnants of the irritation that was directed towards him, only to be replaced with a quaint, fluttery feeling that left her breathless.

"I'm late for training," she said as she got to her feet hastily, pulling her hand out of his grasp as she did so. It was silly, if not cowardly, that she was so taken aback by the sudden flare of feelings in her chest that she was using Quidditch as an excuse. In all honesty, she did have a team to get to – though not for another hour or so, but he didn't need to know the specifics.

"Of course." Draco said slowly, eyeing her with a small frown.

Ginny moved about the room, grabbing her bag and putting on her shoes. "I'll see myself out." She made her way to the door, then paused in the doorway to glance back at him. "I'll speak to my parents," she promised with a smile before walking out, wondering what she had just gotten herself into.

 **xx**

The phrase 'things have taken quite a turn' was an accurate summary of Ginny Weasley's life these days.

In the last two days, she had survived a disastrous dinner where her entire family had continuously lectured her on her bad choices when it came to her love life. Then, she had gone on a manhunt for her boyfriend, with every intention of dumping his aristocratic arse, only to find him sick as a dog. She had practically nursed him back to health and then promised to put him in harm's way by arranging a meeting between him and her very family who hated him.

Merlin, help her indeed.

* * *

 **The next update will take a week or two because I have some important things coming up in my personal life that I can't ignore.**

 **I had originally intended to include the "dinner" in this chapter but decided against it for two reasons: the chapter would've been _too_ long, and because I think we should all witness that event from Draco's POV. So, that is what you have to look forward to in the next chapter and I have loads of plans for it (insert maniacal laugh here).**

 **I hope you all liked this chapter. Please do review and let me know. Until next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, readers!**

 **I am so sorry that it took me so long to update this story, but things had gotten really busy. Adulting, pfftt! But its under control now, and I promise to keep posting the chapters as soon as I can.**

 **I wanted to thank all of my lovely reviewers. Your feedback keeps me going! :)**

 **Anyway, without further ado, I give you the next chapter of this story and I hope that you will enjoy it.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 7**

* * *

Though he tried his best to appear cool and composed, Draco Malfoy felt quite uneasy.

He was about to go dine at the Burrow, the home of the Weasleys – the very people whom he had once loathed with a burning passion and, if he was being honest with himself, was not quite fond of presently as well. He had only agreed to this dinner for Ginevra. His Weasley girlfriend.

 _Merlin._

For the umpteenth time he wondered if he had been under some sort of Imperius Curse to have pursued her. But he knew that that was not the case. He had wilfully entered this relationship, just like he had wilfully agreed to meet with her family.

In all fairness, he had still been suffering from the after-effects of all those pain potions he had taken during his sickness when he had very gallantly and stupidly asked Ginevra to arrange a meeting with her parents, but he did not wish to back out of it now, lest he appear cowardly before those damned redheads. And so, he curled his fingers around his wand and disapparated away.

 _Time for battle._

 **xx**

Draco's feet landed on the grassy ground and he eyed the tall, wonky looking house before him. He had refused to arrive there by the Floo – he wasn't sure if the Weasley hovel had a large enough fireplace, and he would be damned if his entrance into their home was marked by him tumbling unceremoniously out of a tiny hearth – and had told Ginevra that he would apparate there. She had then spent a while giving him the address and describing the place to him in vivid detail so that he would have no trouble finding it.

Little did she know that he did not need any instructions.

He had visited the place years ago as one of the Death Eaters who had gate-crashed her brother's wedding to Fleur Delacour. He had only been a part of that particular mission to appease the Dark Lord, who had been incandescent towards him ever since his failure to kill Dumbledore. For the most part, he had managed to steer clear of his violent comrades and the frantic wedding guests that night, but when Dolohov had shot him a warning glare, he had had no choice but to fire a few hexes that ended up setting a table or two on fire.

It was perhaps best that Ginevra remained in the dark about that, for now at least. He doubted she would understand his side of the story. Besides, the time he had spent in his Death Eater robes wasn't something he liked to talk about anyway.

Draco pushed those horrid memories away as he made his way through the garden, pausing briefly when a rustling noise caused him to turn his attention towards the vegetable patch. A brown creature that looked like a two-legged fat potato trotted between the rows of planted carrots, gleefully snapping off the leaves. Merlin's armpit, they had gnomes! The sight of the creature was more repugnant than surprising; after all, he could hardly expect the Weasleys to take as good care of their garden as the Malfoys.

Two house-elves were especially responsible to ensure that the Manor grounds remained free of such vermin. He could recall a vague childhood memory of his grand-mère spotting a gnome near her favourite carnations and ordering the elf in charge to take a tumble in a thorny bush for the unspeakable negligence. He didn't think he would ever resort to such harsh punishments if he were faced with such a situation, but he probably would deduct some of the house-elf's salary if he found that his servant was not doing his job properly.

Draco stopped outside the front door and squared his shoulders to prepare himself for what would undoubtedly be a tedious event, but before he could raise his hand to knock, the door swung open.

Ginevra stood in the doorway, garbed in plain jeans and a navy jumper, her red hair falling freely down her shoulders and her beautiful brown eyes burning with a mixture of surprise and joy. "You came," she breathed.

"I said I would, didn't I?" he asked, wondering if he should be more offended or amused at her disbelief. Either way, it was obvious that she had expected to be stood up once again.

"You did." She smiled and stepped aside to let him enter.

He hung his coat on a hook by the door before following her into a shabby looking living room with a pair of sagging armchairs and a large couch laden with colourful cushions. The shelves on the stone walls were filled with books and odd little trinkets, and the mantle above the roaring fireplace was covered with framed photographs of the Weasley family members and a couple of framed paintings that were clearly drawn by children. Ginevra had mentioned that she had a small army of little nieces and nephews.

His observations came to a halt when Molly Weasley stepped into the living room from an archway that probably led to the kitchen, judging by the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the direction. "Mr. Malfoy," she greeted, her tone clipped but not impolite, and held out her hand.

"Mrs. Weasley." Draco took her hand in his and, bending over it, placed a small kiss on its back. He had been raised a gentleman and knew his manners, though it was obvious that the woman was not used to being greeted as such. "Your house is very…" The usual compliment ended with 'lovely', but he could not utter the word here without being dishonest; though the place gave off a cosy feel, he found it to be lacking entirely in class. " _Quaint_." He held out an intricately carved wooden box stamped with the Malfoy crest that he had been carrying. "This is for you. Wine from my family's vineyard in Tuscany."

It was one of the finest vintages they had produced and probably cost more than Arthur Weasley's three month salary, though he doubted that the Weasleys would appreciate its value. They were probably one of the few people who could not be impressed with extravagant gifts, what with their foolishly honourable beliefs that money was not everything, but he could not have showed up at their doorstep empty-handed. It was proper that he brought something and he was not going to bring a cheap, off-the-shelf bottle of wine. He was a Malfoy, after all, and had standards to uphold.

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley accepted the box, then ushered him towards one of the armchairs before excusing herself to check up on the roast.

"You _do_ know how to behave like a decent person," Ginevra said teasingly once they were left alone. "Who'd have thought?"

"I'm full of surprises," he said dryly.

"Where were these pleasant surprises back at Hogwarts?"

His response, which included a mild insult to the Gryffindors that would have amused her and a self-satisfied sneer that would have irked her, was cut short by the arrival of Arthur Weasley, who greeted Draco tersely, his lips set into a thin line. The small talk that followed was quite forced as well, as if it took every ounce of tolerance that the thin, balding man had to play the role of a somewhat welcoming host to a Malfoy.

Oddly enough, Draco found that he could relate. He had spent years hating the Weasleys, a feeling that he had inherited from his father, who in turn had spent a chunk of his time at the Ministry ensuring that families who did not share the Malfoy agenda never reached a pedestal of prominence where their voices could cause… _inconvenience_. Inconvenience, not harm, because Lucius Malfoy had been certain that his power could not be thwarted.

How wrong he had been.

It was ironic how it was the Weasleys who were now one of the most respected families in the wizarding community while the Malfoys were all but shunned. More than irony, though, it was a bitter reality that Draco was not indifferent to.

He often thought that his father had joined Voldemort's ranks not out of a petty desire to eradicate muggleborns, but to become part of a regime where the family would be at the top of the power pyramid. It was his attempt at gaining glory and greatness – a desire that Draco, too, had shared when he had taken the Dark Mark. And their attempt had backfired massively.

Still, Draco was nothing if not patient; months of planning the murder of one of the greatest wizards of his time and months of trying to get through the tyranny of one of the most terrible wizards of all times had certainly taught him patience. Gaining the trust and respect of the wizarding community would take time, and he was willing to take it slow, build the Malfoy reputation back up bit by bit.

The dinner was served in the cramped kitchen, where a table was set with rather plain looking china. He held out a chair for Ginevra and took a seat next to her, noting that his gesture did not go unnoticed by her parents. He chose to ignore them and instead eyed the dishes before him, quite impressed with the menu of mashed potatoes, roasted lamb chops, fish cakes and freshly baked bread. He did feel an unexpected tinge of guilt at the thought that Mrs. Weasley must have spent a large amount of time preparing this meal for him, but he hastily shoved it away. He had offered to host them at the Manor, but Ginevra had told him that her parents insisted on inviting him over instead. Their choice, their chores.

"Try the potatoes," Ginevra said as she held out the bowl towards him, a proud smile on her lips. "My cooking."

"Then I shall steer clear of them," Draco said lightly. "I don't want to end up back in the hospital."

She slammed her foot down on his, causing him to jump in surprise. The wench! It hadn't hurt that much, if he was being honest, but it had certainly bruised his ego a bit. "As if you can do any better," she said as she scooped up a much-too-large portion of the potatoes and dropped it onto his plate, ignoring his look of protest entirely. "Do you even know where your kitchen is?"

"Of course, I do," he retorted, wondering if he should admit that his knowledge of the culinary arts was limited to the processes of eating and digesting only. It was not his fault that he was rich enough to afford an army of house-elves who were more than willing to prepare whatever food he wanted, whenever he wanted and bring it to wherever he was. "Though the fact that I hardly ever set foot in the place is another matter entirely."

"You seem recovered now, Mr. Malfoy," Mrs. Weasley said, causing him to turn to the older couple and noting with some intrigue that they looked visibly uncomfortable seeing his somewhat playful banter with their daughter. "You were in quite a bad shape at the hospital the other day. Ginny told me it was some sort of potion accident that caused the infection."

It had been five days since he had been discharged from St. Mungo's, and the fact that he had been seen by the Weasleys in that horrid state peeved him greatly. "Ah, yes," Draco responded stiffly. Mrs. Weasley looked like she was waiting for him to elaborate, perhaps tell her more about the infection or of his recovery, but he had no wish to delve into that complicated topic; placating Ginevra's curiosity with a somewhat vague tale had been tricky enough already. He took a bite of his food to make it clear that he was not willing to speak any further on the matter.

"So, you dabble in potions then?" Mr. Weasley asked.

The question prompted Draco to wonder how big of an idiot the man was. Surely, the head of a department at the Ministry, even if said department was rather useless, would know that potioneering was the largest part of the Malfoy Corporation. "Yes," he replied with excessive politeness. "My company–"

"I know what your company does," Mr. Weasley interrupted, his eyes flashing as if he could see through his forced politeness. "I just wasn't aware that you took part in the research process yourself. I assumed your job was simply to oversee the running of your businesses."

"It is." His father had taught him early on that the secret to having a successful business was being passionately invested in it. For Lucius Malfoy, that passion had taken the shape of politics, using his position at the Ministry to often sway things in a direction from which the company would profit. For him, though, the investment had been his curiosity. "But what is the point of being one of the biggest names in potioneering if one can't play with the boundaries of the subject. I have always been fascinated with alchemy and potions–"

"Have you?"

Draco glared at him coolly; he loathed being interrupted and the ginger man had dared to do so twice in a period of thirty seconds. "I am aware that it was a particular hobby of your youngest son to complain about Professor Snape exhibiting favouritism towards me back at Hogwarts. If he had bothered to pay attention to something other than his petty complexes, he would have noticed that Snape preferred me over almost everyone else because I was actually quite good at the subject."

Though he had once hated that a witch of muggle descent had been the highest academic achiever at Hogwarts, he could now admit that Granger was indeed a gifted witch. But he also thought that it was utterly ridiculous that nobody ever bothered to look past her smarts and tried to see who had come second to her in class. It had been him. His academic performance had been exceptional for the first five years – sixth year had been a horrible downward spiral, but he tried not to think of that – and he had actually taken as many subjects as Granger, scoring eight O's and one E in his OWLs; he had failed Care of Magical Creatures, but that had entirely been the fault of that oaf Hagrid who had been a horrible, unqualified teacher.

A tense silence followed his words, then Mr. Weasley said, "There is no need to get so defensive. I was only asking." He reached for some bread nonchalantly, but as he did so, he glanced very pointedly at his daughter.

Ginevra had told Draco how much her parents had disapproved of their relationship, how they had raised concerns over his past not only as a Death Eater but also as a bully at Hogwarts, and how they had insisted that it was nigh on impossible that a Malfoy would ever be cordial towards her family. This pointed look was Arthur Weasley's way of saying ' _I told you so_ ' to his daughter.

And Draco was going to have none of it. "Please, do not mistake my blunt manner for defensiveness. I was merely stating a fact," he responded calmly, then moved his gaze to Mrs. Weasley. "The food is absolutely delicious, by the way. My compliments to you, ma'am."

"Oh," The plump woman flushed. "Thank you." She eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, as if she was not quite sure what to make of him.

He, too, found himself facing the same dilemma. He had spent a large part of his Hogwarts years passing insults about this woman; he could vividly recall his remarks that had led to that infamous Slytherin-Gryffindor brawl in the Quidditch stadium back in his fifth year. But that had been before his world had crumbled down upon him and forced him to view certain things in a light that he had not acknowledged previously.

Now, even though he would have preferred to dine with trolls in their caves rather than be a guest of the Weasley family – save for Ginevra, of course – he could not help but admit to himself that Molly Weasley had a strength about her, a strength that he had often glimpsed in his own mother. It was a peculiar comparison, he mused, for the two women were as different as day and night, and yet it could not be denied that they were also very much alike in some ways. Mrs. Weasley had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps the most notorious Death Eater to have existed, in order to protect her daughter. Narcissa Malfoy had stared the Dark Lord in the eye and lied to him for the sake of her son – for him. It was a mother's love that had saved both Ginevra and him, and he could not help but respect the two mothers who had loved so dearly.

Besides, any woman who had the talent to cook such scrumptious lamb chops deserved an extra ounce of respect any way.

"And the potatoes?" Ginevra asked, causing him to turn his head in her direction. Her expression was neutral, playful even, but he could tell that she was not pleased with the somewhat stiff direction the dinner conversation had taken. Had she really expected that they would all get along instantly, laughing over all the friendly memories that they had never shared? She was a fool if she had.

"I'm endeavouring to keep them down." As if to demonstrate, he took a bite of potatoes and winked at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

The rest of the meal went by in a similar 'slightly tense but not altogether suffocating' manner. The conversation that occurred was laden with wariness on the part of the elder Weasleys, a casual ignorance of the underlying issues on Ginevra's and a blunt arrogance on his, but they all managed to make it to pudding without brandishing their wands, which Draco felt was quite an achievement.

They were almost finished with dessert when a tapping sound turned their attention towards an impatient looking screech owl hovering outside the kitchen window. "That's Gwenog's owl," Ginevra groaned as she moved to accept the letter from the bird. "I hope she's not scheduling another early practice."

"I never thought I'd hear _you_ complain about your job, seeing that how much you love it," Mrs. Weasley said lightly.

"I love sleeping too, mum," Ginevra said as she skimmed the contents of the missive. Her brows drew into a frown. "Bloody hell!" She looked at them incredulously. "The Prophet plans on doing weekly in-depth features on each of the teams in the League next month. The interview with the Harpies is scheduled to take place next week and Gwenog wants me to be a tour guide of sorts for the sports correspondent."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Ginevra bit her lip thoughtfully. "I had hoped to keep my contribution to a minimum. I've been in the news enough already."

"Since when do you care what the press says about you?" Mr. Weasley asked. "You're one of the best players Holyhead Harpies has, and you deserve to be an integral part of that feature."

"Besides, I highly doubt that your absence from this particular interview will discourage Rita Skeeter from publishing more of her manure," Draco felt the need to add. If anything, the red-lipped cow would probably spin her absence into a tall tale involving heartbreak and drugs and elopement or something bizarre of that sorts. Not to mention that avoiding the press would be a cowardly move on Ginevra's part, and if there was one thing he was certain that she was not, it was a coward.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed surprised that he had agreed with them, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the sheer stupidity they exhibited. The fact that he had just sort of backed Arthur Weasley was as significant as a random agreement he would have with a distant acquaintance; he had only done so to do right by his girlfriend.

"You're right." Ginevra smiled gratefully at the two men, then excused herself so she could go and send a reply to her team captain.

Her temporary departure, however, meant that Draco was left alone with her parents. He noticed them share a subtle glance, and then Mrs. Weasley started clearing the table while Mr. Weasley fixed his gaze upon him. A tiny urge to get up and leave entered his mind, but he was quick to dismiss it. A confrontation was inevitable, and he had known that since the day he had gotten involved with Ginevra. To run away from it now would be a cowardice that was beneath even him. So, he leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow challengingly, waiting for one of them to speak.

It was Mr. Weasley who did. "Ginny is my heart," he said, "And she has the biggest heart. She has always seen the best in others, always believed that everyone deserves a second chance. Even you, Mr. Malfoy. She seems to think that you've changed, that you're worthy enough of an important place in her life." He paused for moment and when he continued, his voice was filled with steel. "I'm not as optimistic. You are your father's son, and you are capable of the same manipulative, prejudiced, self-serving and heartless ways that he was. I don't trust you, and I sure as hell do not trust your intentions towards my daughter. So, I am obliged to tell you that if you try anything with my Ginny, I will–"

"Oh, spare me with your threats, Arthur!" Draco sneered. The man had dropped his mask of politeness and it was only right that he dropped his own. "They do not scare me in the slightest." He had survived being threatened by the Dark Lord himself, after all, and this honourable, balding man came nowhere near the vicinity of that. "Might I point out that your love for your daughter is pointless if you don't trust her enough to make the right decisions for herself?"

"Now, wait a minute–"

"Ginevra is one of the strongest witches I've ever met, and she is more than capable of taking care of herself. She doesn't need you or her useless brothers to protect her."

"I know." Mr. Weasley looked him in the eye. "But we are all here to protect her nonetheless."

Draco could not help but be impressed with the man's dedication towards his children. It was an admirable quality. "Noted," he said in the same tone he used whenever he sealed a business deal. Setting aside his napkin, he turned to look at Mrs. Weasley, who had been silently listening to their conversation. He noted that she did not appear to be as suspicious of him as before; perhaps he had managed to satisfy her to an extent, if not her husband. "May I use your bathroom?" he asked her.

"Upstairs," she replied. "On the third floor."

The bathroom turned out to be small, as expected, though he did think it was an atrocity that one had to climb all those flights of stairs just to empty a bladder. He resisted the urge to splash some water on his face; the dinner had turned out to be more testing than he had originally imagined, and his mind was now a whirlwind of thoughts that he did not want to examine. At least not now.

As he turned off the tap, his eyes came to rest on the hand towel hanging by the sink. Though it was clean, he could tell that it had already been put to use by the members of the family. Salazar's blood, did they expect him to dry his hands with that? The thought alone filled him with revulsion. He was wondering whether to use the toilet paper or to pull out his wand and cast a drying spell when there was a knock on the door.

"It's me," Ginevra called out. "I brought you a fresh towel." It was ridiculous that he should feel such immense relief over something so silly, but he did, and he was quick to step outside. Her eyes were shining with an odd knowledge as she handed him the cloth. "I know how particular you can be about these."

He had the decency to look sheepish at that. It was true, and Blaise had been quick to blame it on his OCD, though Draco personally thought that it was simply a good sense of hygiene. "I knew I kept you around for a reason, Weasley," he stated.

"I wish I could say the same about you, Malfoy," she sighed wistfully as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "But I suppose I will have to make do with what I've got."

Her lips curved into a suggestive smile as they met his, and he allowed himself to drown in the kiss for a few moments before pulling away. It was very likely that their absence would be noticed, and though he was not afraid of exhibiting a public display of affection – had they not kissed in that stadium in front of the entire world? – he did think that getting caught in the midst of a snog would do his precariously maintained truce with her parents no good.

Ginevra let out a sound of protest at the loss of contact, her hands tugging at the lapels of his jacket, a silent plea for more. Her lips were so soft and inviting that there was no choice but to give in. He pulled her in for a hot, passionate kiss, his fingers buried in her red hair. She moaned softly, and the sound travelled straight to his groin. Sweet Salazar, the woman would be the death of him.

He had once taken an illegal potion called _Deluge_ back at Hogwarts – Marcus Flint had somehow managed to sneak it past Filch and the Slytherin Quidditch team had decided to celebrate their victory against Ravenclaw in a more _wild_ fashion than usual – and he remembered its effects clearly. An insane euphoria had flooded his veins, igniting every inch of his mind and body, and he had floated in the highest of skies and danced among the brightest of stars. Kissing Ginevra felt like that. He had never dabbled in those sorts of substance again, but Merlin help him, he would very much like to spend the rest of his life getting high on her essence.

A hard thump caused them to jump apart and, dazed as he was by the rather magnificent snogging, it took Draco a moment to recognise the bearded man with round glasses and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead standing on the staircase. It took him another moment to realise that the newcomer was injured, with one side of his head caked in blood and his left hand nearly mangled.

"Harry!" Ginevra's voice was filled with horror. "What's happened to you?"

Something flashed in Potter's eyes as he looked between the two of them, but it was gone a moment later. "I'm fine," he said curtly. "I just… need the medicine kit."

Ginevra disappeared into the bathroom without a word and returned a few seconds later with a small box. She reached out and placed a hand on Potter's arm. "Let me help you downstairs and then I can–"

"I said I'm fine!" Potter all but growled as he snatched the box from her hands and stormed back downstairs.

Though Ginevra seemed taken aback, it was obvious that her main concern lay with the welfare of her ex. Draco held no such concern, so he found himself trying to decipher the cold behaviour that his old nemesis had just exhibited.

It was entirely possible that Potter had been short-tempered due to the pain of his wounds, but it felt more like a reaction to the snogging he had just witnessed. The real question that then arose was what sort of a reaction it was. It could have been mere shock or disapproval, but it also could have been jealousy. Could it be true, Draco wondered, could Rita Skeeter's sensational love triangle actually be real? Merlin, he hoped not – not because he was afraid of competition, but because he wasn't sure if he wanted to live in a world where Rita Skeeter was right.

He dismissed the speculation for now and placed an arm around Ginevra's waist, leading her down the stairs. By the time they entered the living room, Potter's hand was already wrapped in a bandage and Mrs. Weasley was gently applying dittany to the wound on his head.

"Here," Mr. Weasley said as he handed Potter a glass of firewhiskey. "You look like you need it."

Potter snorted and took a healthy sip. "Thanks."

"What happened?" Ginevra asked.

Potter sent an ugly glare in their direction, which only caused Draco's suspicions to grow stronger; though the Harry-Ginny relationship had ended over a year ago, there was evidently some unfinished business between them, more prominently on Scarhead's part.

"We were chasing a lead about an escaped Death Eater. There was a skirmish." Potter glanced at Mrs. Weasley and went on in a softer tone. "Ron's fine. He went off on his date night with Hermione after I promised him that I'd spend the night here, under your supervision."

"Good." Mrs. Weasley smiled as she waved her wand and cleaned the blood from his head, leaving behind no trace of the deep gash that had been there only moments ago. "What happened to the Death Eater?"

"He escaped," Potter replied, clearly displeased with the outcome of his mission. He once again looked in their direction. "You remember Antonin Dolohov, Draco? I believe he was an old _colleague_ of yours."

Draco stiffened, both at the mention of the notorious Death Eater and at the fact that the thrice damned hero of the wizarding world had managed to remind everyone of his old affiliations with Voldemort with such a casual sentence, thus rendering any progress he had made with Ginevra's parents during dinner nearly useless. "I remember him."

"You wouldn't happen to know where he might be hiding, would you?"

"Harry," Ginevra warned in a low voice, though she was ignored entirely.

"I am sure you would tell us if you had any information about your old mates," Potter went on, his smile more taunting than courteous. "Law-abiding citizen that you are now."

The sheer hypocrisy of these honourable Gryffindors was astounding, it had always been so. Potter had once made a rousing speech about the importance of forgiveness to get Draco pardoned, and here he was now, ridiculing him for the very past that he had claimed needed to be put behind course, there was a major difference between the two instances: there had been a huge audience at the Death Eater trials, praising Potter for his nobility and hailing him as their hero. Now, though, in the confines of this small living room filled with people who already danced to his tunes, the great hero could afford to show his true face. It was pathetic, really.

Draco wanted nothing more than to hex the spectacled git but knew that it would only make matters worse. Still, just because it was unwise to initiate a fight did not mean that he had to stand here and listen to this shit. "I should go," he said.

"Are you sure?" Ginevra glanced at him. "I was thinking of making some tea and–"

"Perhaps some other time, darling," he said, and noted that the others had stilled in surprise. It wasn't hard to figure out why. The first time he had addressed Ginevra as 'darling', it had been out of a sense of mockery, but somehow over time it had become completely natural for him to use the term of endearment for her. And if Potter had a problem with that – which he did, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by – then he could go fuck himself. "I have an important meeting tomorrow that I have to prepare for."

He thanked Mrs. Weasley for a lovely dinner, shook Mr. Weasley's hand, ignored the Git Who Lived Twice and then walked over to the front door. He was slipping on his coat when he noticed that Ginevra had followed him. "You don't have to see me out," he told her.

"And you don't have to run away," she pointed out.

Her words gave him pause. "Is that what you think is happening?"

"What's the meeting about?" she asked him as they both stepped out the front door. It was a cloudy night, with barely any stars in the sky, but the air was pleasantly cool.

"I have mentioned to you before that there is a deal that I've been trying to close for a couple of weeks now. It's about that." he replied. "I'm afraid I can't tell you more than that, except that if it works out, there might be a pleasant little surprise in it for you."

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "You're not… buying the Harpies, are you?"

"Merlin, no!" Draco said with a laugh. "Why would I buy such a failure of a team?"

"Prat!" Ginevra slapped his arm lightly, then glanced back at her house. "The dinner went alright, don't you think?" It was no secret that this meant a great deal to her, and she was obviously very concerned about it.

"As well as it could have gone," he assured her gravely, then leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead. "Go inside before you catch a cold. I'll see you soon."

"Not if I see you first." She winked at him playfully before returning inside.

Draco started making his way down the gardens so that he could disapparate; like most wizarding families after the war, the Weasleys had left up a few protective shields around their house. It had been an unusual night, and he found his usual impression of Arthur and Molly Weasley quite challenged by what he had witnessed. They followed a set of morals that he could not understand, which made sense since their way of life had differed greatly from his own, but he no longer found them to be entirely despicable.

Still, his thoughts about the Weasley family were not causing his stomach to turn. It was a single name that was troubling him: Antonin Dolohov.

 **xx**

Though he tried his best to appear cool and composed, Draco Malfoy felt quite uneasy.

How ironic was it that he had been thinking of Dolohov – something that he refrained from doing most of the time – when he had arrived at the Burrow, only to find out that the man was being hunted by the Aurors, had managed to elude them and was currently in the wind?

They do say something about thinking of the devil, he mused.

He remembered Dolohov well; it would be hard to forget the look of ferocious joy on that long, twisted face every time he tortured an enemy of the Dark Lord, to whom he was devoted beyond imagining.

The mention of his name had unsettled Draco, though he could not imagine why. Perhaps it was because he usually tended to avoid any news or gossip related to the Death Eaters, or perhaps it was something else. But the way Potter had glared at him, the thinly veiled accusation and the open suspicion in his words filled him with an odd sense of doom...

Well, fuck Potter. And while he was at it, fuck Dolohov as well.

Draco had sacrificed a lot in the six years following the war to build a life for himself, and now that he was content, he could not bring himself to give a damn about the games that the Aurors and the Death Eaters were playing. He had nothing to do with either of them.

* * *

 **I was very particular about the way I wrote the dinner: I did not want it to be an outright success.** **Realistically speaking, it would be almost impossible for Draco (who was raised with certain beliefs) to not only see Weasleys as the wonderful people they are but to also realise his own past mistakes over the course of a single dinner. Similarly, I doubt that it would be so easy for the Weasleys to forgive and forget the deeds of the Malfoys and see that Draco is no longer the person he was back at Hogwarts.**

 **Understanding comes with time. Whether our beloved characters will reach that point or not... well, that is something that you'll have to wait and see!**

 **Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Your reviews mean the world to me!**

 **Until next time. Cheers x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Greetings, my dear readers! I'm terribly sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I was going through a massive writer's block - my intention was to include something Christmas-related, but I'm afraid that didn't work with the story plan I have in mind. So Christmas will have to wait, at least in this story!**

 **Oh and there are some mature themes in this chapter but nothing too explicit (hopefully!). Happy reading!**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 8**

* * *

Draco Malfoy had always had a love-hate relationship with night time.

When he was little, he hated having to go to bed when he could have spent all those hours playing. When he was at Hogwarts, staying up late along with his dorm mates, playing wizards chess or cracking jokes was the highlight of the day for him. When he received the Dark Mark, he hated the night time; the pressure of figuring out a way to kill Dumbledore made it impossible to sleep and staying awake was no walk in the park either. When the Dark Lord resided in the Manor as their esteemed 'guest', Draco craved for the night, for a time to shut his eyes and to escape from the horrors and the screams that echoed in his precious home. And after the war, well, the prospect of nightmares made him dread the time when he would have to go to bed.

Sometimes it felt as if things we better. Other times, not so much. But then again, the same could be said about his days too... Sweet Salazar, his life was a complicated thing.

 **xx**

 _He was standing on the edge of a cliff that almost touched the sky._ _What he was about to do was utterly reckless, but he could not wait to do it. There was a good chance that he would die as a result of this, but he had never felt more alive._

 _He slipped his hand into his pocket until he felt the tip of his wand and a small brush, which he knew was his shrunken Nimbus Prime. He had his tools, and all he had to do was to use those tools to achieve what he wanted. And what he wanted was utterly bizarre. Not to mention,_ totally _awesome._

 _His body trembled with anticipation as he took a deep breath – and jumped._

 _His stomach churned as gravity tugged at him and the ground that was far, far down below started inching towards him. He would have shouted, but the wind had knocked the breath out of his lungs. Even as he floated, he felt a heavy, tangible weight press down on his chest and something soft caress his face –_

Draco jerked awake and blinked rapidly until the image of the tall cliff and the bright blue sky disappeared, only to be replaced with a curtain of red locks and a very familiar freckled face. "Wha–?"

"It's just me," Ginevra – for it _was_ Ginevra – murmured as she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back onto the pillows. It occurred to him then that she was sitting on top of him.

Perhaps this was a bizarre dream as well, but to be sure, he reached out and placed his hands on her waist, noting that her form was very real beneath his touch. Not a dream, then. "Do you often break into other people's bedrooms and sit on them while they are sleeping?" he asked.

"Only the people I date," she replied as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his skin, the softness of her lips a pleasant contrast to her ferocious teeth. When her attentions continued to remain fixed on that single spot, he realised that she was giving him a love bite.

"Merlin, I'm dating a psychopath!"

"You'll get used to it." She raised her head to look him in the eye. "And I did not break into your room. Yugo let me in."

"I see," Draco said as he glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight. "And may I ask why you are here?" Not that she was not welcome, but he felt it was a reasonable question to ask, taking into account the fact that he had been at her place for that damned dinner with her parents only a few hours ago.

"I wanted to thank you for behaving somewhat decently at the dinner today. Honestly, I was prepared to be stood up once again–"

"I'm a man of my word, Ginevra," he told her, but then felt obligated to add a condition that applied to all Slytherins, most of all him. "When it suits me."

"It's funny you mention that," she mumbled as she slowly started to move down his body. "Since you've stuck to your side of the bargain, I think it would only be right if I fulfilled mine as well."

Draco frowned. What bargain? He couldn't recall anything that she had promised him... until she pulled his pajama pants down to his knees and placed a soft kiss on his thigh.

 _Oh._

 _That._

 _Right._

This was to be his prize – though she had flippantly called it 'price' when he had first suggested it – if he ensured that his meeting with her family did not end in disaster. Which, miraculously, it hadn't.

He opened his mouth to tell her that the 'blowjob clause' had only been a joke and he did not really expect her to comply; he would never ask her to do such a thing unless she was willing. But from the looks of it, Ginevra _was_ willing – she had come all the way here in the middle of the night for this, after all – and her lips were curved into a smile that he found to be immensely seductive. Only an idiot would try to put a stop to what the lady intended to do, so he very wisely shut his mouth.

Her fingertips were cool as she ran them up and down his inner thighs for what felt like years, and he fidgeted impatiently, wondering if her goal was to tease him to death. By Merlin's blood, he would haunt her forever if that was the case. But then her lips were upon him and all ability to formulate coherent thought escaped him.

It was as if she had taken him to the highest cliff in the world and thrown him off it, just like his dream, except this time he didn't have a shrunken broom in his pocket that could potentially break his fall. So, he flew and fell at the same time, engulfed in the heat of her mouth and the strokes of her tongue, until he crashed into the sea below, drowning in the waves of an ecstasy so pure that he could not help the raw sound that escaped his throat.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy." It was Ginevra's voice that snapped him back to his senses, and he realized that he had been staring dazedly at the ceiling. "Should I take that moan as a compliment?" she asked as she crawled back up until her face was level with his.

If there was ever anything that was going to make him blush, it was this. Fortunately for him, he was already flushed because of the pleasant ordeal he had just gone through, making it nigh on impossible for her to note the change. "You may if you want to," he said in a tone that he hoped was filled with gratitude but also preserved some of his dignity. Hopefully. "It… It'd been a while since I've experienced this."

"How long?" She raised an eyebrow.

He pulled his pajama bottoms back up. "I expect you will be expecting the favour to be returned?"

"You're trying to change the topic."

"How is making an offer of performing oral sex an attempt to change the topic away from oral sex?" Draco demanded. Damn him and his post-orgasm brain, blabbing off about his past in the daze. Now, Ginevra's curiosity was peaked. There would be no distracting her. He wondered if she expected him to give her the date when he had last received a blowjob; he could not, for the life of him, remember when that had been. Which was just sad. "I don't know," he answered. "With my last girlfriend, perhaps."

She nodded slowly. "Who was she?"

Draco was not caught off guard, but the question did give him pause. Barring a few disagreements, this unexpected relationship with Ginevra had miraculously been going stable and he had known that this topic would pop up sooner or later. The problem was that he was uncertain how to respond. His past romantic entanglements were no secret – though he doubted many people knew of them; nobody was interested in his life anymore – but he had never really spoken about himself to anyone but Blaise, who not only was his best mate but was also wise enough to keep his remarks brief and his curiosity even more so.

Something must have shown on his face because Ginevra quickly said, "You don't have to tell me. I didn't mean to pry–"

"No." He shook his head lightly. He was not blind to the efforts she always made to ensure his comfort in their relationship. Not once had she asked him to not be himself when meeting her family or reprimanded him for any arrogance he had exhibited towards her parents; though he did believe that she was in dark about the 'real talk' he and Mr. Weasley had had during her brief absence and wanted to keep it that way. If anyone had deserved answers from him – at least about this – it was her. "Solenne De la Croix. I met her through Lukas last year." The only time he had found his unbearably haughty first cousin once removed to be somewhat useful. "We dated for a few months."

"Right," Ginevra said. Her eyes were shining with something akin to gratitude, as if she was glad that he had shared a part of his past with her. Salazar's blood, he'd had no idea that something so simple would mean so much to her.

"To be honest," Draco went on. "I have been so busy with my work in the last few years that I haven't had much time to date." The Malfoy Corporation had all but collapsed following his father's incarceration. No one wanted to do business with the people who had been one of Voldemort's strongest supporters. It had taken a lot of hard work to re-establish the company and make it strong and stable once again. In those circumstances, dating had been the last thing on his mind… And then there was the Dark Mark that was burnt onto his arm, the sight of which was enough to scare most women away. "Just some one-night stands."

"Man-whore," she teased.

"There were no monetary transactions involved in those encounters, so technically, your label is incorrect."

"Technically, you're a git." She sat up, cross-legged, and folded her arms across her chest. "And an inhospitable one at that. I just gave you a bloody orgasm and you haven't even offered me a drink."

"Well…" he began with a suggestive smirk.

She must have anticipated how utterly coarse his next words were going to be, for her cheeks turned crimson. "Say it and I'll hex you, Malfoy," she warned.

Draco sat up with a laugh and summoned them a bottle of chardonnay and a pair of wineglasses. "You can be such a prude at times, Weasley," he stated as he poured them both a drink.

Ginevra looked at him incredulously, as if the idea of anyone calling her a prude was unimaginable. And clearly, unacceptable. "I just gave you a–"

"Yes, yes." He rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to hold this blowjob over my head?"

"For as long as it suits me." It was curious how sometimes she would say or do things that made him think that she would have done remarkably well in Slytherin. No wonder he was fond of her. "To be honest," she began after a few moments. "I'm surprised you didn't end up married to pug-nosed Parkinson."

"Pansy?" Draco asked, startled. He hadn't thought of Pansy Parkinson in a while, and with good reason.

Ginevra nodded. "Weren't the two of you a thing since the Yule Ball?"

"We were." He remembered all those evenings he and Pansy had spent snuggling on one of the secluded armchairs in the Slytherin common room, or the few times the two of them had snuck to the prefect's bathroom for a romantic bath. "But I ended things with her during my sixth year because… I had more important tasks to do." He had tried holding on to both his regular school life and the Dark Lord's mission, but it had become clear within a couple of months that the latter would have to take precedence over everything else. So, he had broken up with Pansy, distanced himself from his friends, given up on his formal education, made excuses to get out of his Quidditch obligations and spent his time as a recluse, trying to figure out a way to kill Dumbledore. "Though we did try again after the war."

Pansy had shown up at the Manor one afternoon, a couple of months after his trial. They had taken a turn about the gardens like they used to when they were children. She had bitched about one of her American cousins – Patricia, was it? – spilling red wine on her best white dress and he had pretended that they were back at Hogwarts, where his biggest worry had been the favouritism Potter received at the hands of the teachers and not the nightmares that awaited him every time he lay down to sleep. It had felt natural at the time to rekindle their relationship; the attraction that they had felt towards each other had never really evaporated, after all.

"What happened?" Ginevra asked as she refilled their glasses.

"It didn't last," Draco replied simply. "It couldn't have lasted."

The war and the time spent in Azkaban had still haunted him at that point – to be honest, it still did in some ways – and he had been on probation at the time, only allowed to go to certain places and use limited types of magic, stuck with cooperating with the Aurors whenever they decided to look into his affairs, which was at least one or twice a week. Dealing with all that and facing the constant scorn of the entire wizarding community had left him in no shape to be somebody's boyfriend. He had somehow survived the war, but the world – _his_ world, the one that he had grew up in – had crumbled down and all the beliefs he had had before were put to question. He had needed time to not only mend his broken self but also to make sense of the person he had become.

"After the war, I found myself desiring loneliness, space," he told her. "But Pansy wouldn't go. She thought that she could help me, and maybe she could, but I wasn't willing to find out. Not at that time."

He remembered their final fight vividly. They had been having brunch at Pansy's townhouse in London when the conversation had turned sour. The things he had said that day… Merlin, they were utterly unforgivable; sometimes he could not quite believe that he had been capable of even uttering such words. He had broken Pansy's heart, and when she had asked him to leave and never come back, he had done exactly that.

Ginevra reached out and took his hand in hers. She did not speak, but comforted him with her silence as she waited for him to continue his story.

Which he did. Merlin knew why. "By the time I felt ready for a relationship, she was already engaged." Zabini had suggested that he try and stop the wedding, but Draco had refused. He would never stoop so low as to steal a man's bride. Besides, bizarre shit like that only happened in badly-written romance novels. "She lives in America with her husband, who is the head of some department at MACUSA."

"Did you love her?" Ginevra's voice was soft, but the question was blunt.

Draco refilled their glasses, noting that they had already gone through nearly two-thirds of the bottle. Judging by the slightly buzzed feeling, he would wager that he had played a big part in that. It was no cause for concern; he was not a lightweight, years of drinking with Blaise had ensured that. The room fell silent, save for the ticking of the clock, and his mind wandered far away, perusing through memories of his ex.

"I suppose I did," he answered after a while. "But I don't anymore."

A small smile touched Ginevra's lips and she squeezed his hand lightly, clearly indicating that she had appreciated his honesty. She did not ask any further questions, which was fortunate; he had had his fill of sharing for the day, possibly the year. However, when she did speak, it was to say the most unexpected thing. "I am sorry I called her pug-nosed."

Draco bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. He doubted Pansy would give the slightest damn about being called that; she hadn't when the Gryffindors had done so back at Hogwarts. " _Please,_ " he scoffed. "Do not presume that you can offend us Slytherins with your insults. Your harshest words are mere blossoms compared to what _we_ can come up with."

"I believe you," she muttered. "You Slytherins did have no class–"

"Says the girl who compared her crush to a 'freshly pickled toad' in her love poem," He sneered, reminding her of the ridiculous poem she had written on Valentine's Day for Scarhead back at Hogwarts. It had proven to be quite a hit in the Slytherin Common Room, so much so that Montague had charmed all the alarm clocks to sing it every morning. Draco had tried feeding his clock to the Giant Squid on day six. "By the way," he went on, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her cheeks turning as red as her hair. "When am I going to get a poem of my own?"

"I can give you one right now," she retorted, clearly irritated at his successful attempts to get her flustered. "' _Draco Malfoy is an ugly armadillo. Later tonight, I'm going to smother him with a pillow.'_ "

This time he did laugh. As rude as her poetry was – he was certain he would balance the scales with his trademarked insults in the near future – it was quite impressive that she had been able to come up with a couplet on the spot; he wouldn't be able to do so even if his life depended on it.

"Since we are sharing," he began with forced casualness, wondering how much would he be able to get out of her. "When were you going to tell me?"

She looked at him, an eyebrow raised in question. "Tell you what?"

"That Potter is still in love with you."

All traces of amusement left Ginevra's face in an instant. "Harry is not in love with me," she said, her voice lacking in conviction as she slipped off the bed and walked over to the window.

"He is," he said. "You'd have to be blind to not notice it."

It was obvious that she was uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken, but he had no intention of taking back his words. He moved to stand beside her and waited.

The night outside was still but beautiful. A blanket of fog had descended from the hills and settled over the fells surrounding the Manor, hiding a large part of the woods behind white mist.

"I cannot remember a time when I wasn't in love with Harry Potter." Ginevra's soft voice almost startled him. "It sounds silly, I know, an infatuation conjured up by an eleven-year-old girl, and maybe it was that at the time…" A small smile touched her lips, but there was something sad about it. "But after what happened during my first year at Hogwarts, I knew I loved him."

The Chamber of Secrets.

Draco wasn't quite sure what had happened – the events that had taken place at Hogwarts that year had never quite come into light; his father had told him that Dumbledore had insisted that Tom Riddle, who had turned out to be the heir of Slytherin, had opened the chamber and terrorized the students using some dark magic – but he did know that Ginevra was the girl who had been somehow abducted and taken into the chamber. And Saint Potter had saved the day. Big surprise there.

"Harry never saw me as anything but Ron's little sister. He was much more interested in Cho Chang, so I tried to move on. I dated Michael Corner and Dean Thomas for a bit, but it didn't feel… _real_." She glanced sideways at him, as if to see if he had anything to say. He didn't, so she went on. "Harry and I got together in my fifth year – your sixth – and I think my world snapped into place. Everything was perfect, but then he had to go and… finish the mission Dumbledore had given him. So, we broke up."

He noted that she had purposefully remained vague about Potter's mission, which was nothing new. After the war ended, the Ministry officials and the press had been eager to know the trials and tribulations the Golden Trio had faced during the time Voldemort had been in power. Potter had told them that they had been on a mission for Dumbledore, the details of which were highly confidential and would strictly remain between a handful of people – but Potter must have told Ginevra, and she was loyally keeping his secret.

"It wasn't a break up, though. Not really," Ginevra went on as she reached out and drew a jagged line on the window glass. "We both knew that if we somehow survived the war, we'd be together for the rest of our days. And we were together for a while. We were so madly in love, and I was the happiest I'd ever been."

It occurred to Draco that the line she had drawn on _his_ window looked remarkably like Potter's lightning scar, and he hated it. Reaching out, he wiped it away. "But it didn't last. Why?"

His question seemed to snap her out of whatever memory lane she was tumbling down. "Harry spent his entire adolescence fighting for the wizarding community. I don't think he knows how to stop. After Voldemort, he saw it as his duty to go after the Death Eaters who had escaped, so he became an Auror."

Draco resisted the urge to sneer; he, after all, knew all about Potter and his goddamned hero complex. No matter how much Scarhead acted all humble, no one would ever be able to convince him that he did not enjoy all the attention. That git.

It was almost as if Ginevra knew what he was thinking. "You've only ever seen Harry as an adversary, Draco. You don't understand how much he is willing to sacrifice for the sake of others. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders; it's just that _I_ didn't want to carry it with him," she said, turning to face him. "I lost friends in that war, I lost my brother. The possibility that one day someone would show up and tell me that Harry was killed during one of his Auror missions was unbearable. And I couldn't share my fears with him. How could I ask him to give up the very same courage and nobility that were the reasons I'd fallen in love with him in the first place?" she asked. "I grew frustrated, so did he. We started fighting over the pettiest things. Days would go by where we wouldn't even look at each other, let alone talk. It was suffocating."

"So you decided to end it," he stated.

Ginevra nodded. "It was one of the toughest times of my life, and though it was difficult for both of us, we decided to remain friends afterwards." Considering that Scarhead was practically a part of the Weasley clan; it would have been nigh on impossible for the two of them to steer clear of each other. "I chose to focus on my career. I didn't consider any other man in a romantic light… until I ran into a certain blond prat at some posh party in Paris and ended up trapped between him and a bookshelf."

Draco couldn't help but grin at that. "Can you imagine what would have happened if we had just quarrelled and went our separate ways that night?" he asked.

"Well, I'd have been deprived of this gorgeous tushy, for one!" She joked as she grabbed his buttock and squeezed it lightly.

With a roll of his eyes, he pulled her against him so he could claim her lips with his. He let the contact linger for a few moments longer than necessary and looked into her eyes when they parted. "Do you still love him?" he asked. The thought was irking him like a pebble stuck in a boot, and he had to get it out of the way.

Ginevra hesitated; it was subtle, barely a slight shift of her posture, but it filled him with an odd alarm. "A part of me will always love Harry–"

 _Sweet Salazar._ The last thing he wanted was to be a third wheel to the great Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley love saga. "I am not interested in competing with Potter, Ginevra," he said coolly. "And I am not going to serve as your boyfriend until you realise that he is your one true love and run off to him."

She turned her head to meet his gaze. "I'm going to say this only once, Draco: there is _no_ competition between you and him," she said. "If I wanted to be with Harry, I'd be with him. But I'm not. I'm with you because I _choose_ to be with you. I want you. Trust me."

And he did. Ginevra Weasley was not someone who used people, of that he was entirely sure. "I trust you," he murmured, the words terrifying him to his very core.

"Draco," she said softly as she reached up and took his face in her hands. She kissed him gently, and his heart elated at the touch. "Will you take me to bed?"

Merlin. What was she doing to him? "Of course, I will."

Their lips met once again, their clothes came off bit by bit and they fell onto the bed. It started off slow and soft, an attempt to get as close to each other as was humanly possible, and as Draco looked down at the beautiful woman laying beneath him, he realized how important she had become to him. It had been too long since he had trusted, let alone cared for someone other than his immediate family. And now, this Weasley girl had weaseled her way into his life.

He wanted to show her that, to somehow let her know how glad he was that she had chosen him above Potter.

A sudden wave of possessiveness came over him, filling his insides with an animalistic desire to claim her, to almost devour her, and his movements grew rougher and rougher until the entire bed was shuddering beneath them and her moans turned into whimpers. The thought that perhaps he was hurting her broke through the haze of lust, but he quickly dismissed it once he noticed how she met his every movement and how her face was a portrait of ecstasy that he too was feeling in his heart.

This time when he fell off the cliff and dived into a sea of pleasure, she was right there by his side. And Draco reckoned that if the world had somehow ended abruptly in that one moment, he would have died a happy man.

 **xx**

Draco Malfoy had always had a love-hate relationship with the night time. This one had been surprisingly good; he had had a heart-to-heart and a mind-blowing shag with his lovely girlfriend.

But it didn't last.

For the second time that night, Draco found himself jerking awake. It wasn't because of Ginevra this time – she lay curled up against his side, fast asleep. Nor was it due to a nightmare. In fact, he had woken up to a nightmare far, far worse.

His Dark Mark was burning.

* * *

 **Da-da-dum!** **I really wanted Draco and Ginny to spend some time understanding each other better before I threw them into the outer world once again. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter.**

 **Until next time!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, my wonderful readers!**

 **Thank you for all your reviews, I am glad you are enjoying the story this far.** **Here is the next chapter - its a bit short, but it had to be like this to get the ball rolling. Please do review and let me know what you thought of it.**

 **Disclaimer: The Wizarding World and all its characters belong to JK Rowling.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 9**

* * *

Ginny Weasley's mind was reeling.

It was funny how sometimes you tend not to notice the things that had always been right in front of you. She certainly hadn't. If she had, she wouldn't have been standing there like a fool, torn between feelings of trust and betrayal.

 **xx**

"How do I look?" Hermione asked as she stepped out from behind the changing curtains.

Ginny whistled. "So perfect that I'm tempted to ask you to marry me!"

"We would make a handsome couple. Too bad I'm madly in love with your brother." Hermione grinned as she eyed her reflection in the large mirror and straightened the skirts of her white sequined ballgown. "And this tight corset better be worth it!"

It was early afternoon and the two friends were in the dressing room of _Rosanna's Dresser,_ a small boutique in Diagon Alley, for the final fittings of their outfits for Ron and Hermione's upcoming nuptials.

"Oh, it will be, Miss Granger. Your fiancé won't be able to keep his eyes off you!" Madame Rosanna, a golden-haired woman in her mid-forties, assured her before returning her focus on Ginny's dusty blue dress, which apparently still needed alterations, if Rosanna's much-too-lively measuring tape and her furiously scribbling quick-quotes quill were anything to go by.

It was ridiculous, Ginny mused and later voiced the thought, that the bride had already changed into her jeans and jumper while she – the bridesmaid – was stuck standing on a pedestal, getting poked by pins.

"Well, we wouldn't want you looking too simple next to your dandy date," Madame Rosanna said.

"My _what_?"

"Mr. Malfoy. Your boyfriend," the older woman pointed out, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I think he is one of the most well-dressed men in Wizarding Britain – Europe, even – and I want his eyes to pop out when he sees you at the wedding." She paused to playfully wink at Ginny. "Who knows, he might drop to his knees and propose!"

It was one of those wishful fantasies that often haunted overly-optimistic, lovesick people – which Madame Rosanna certainly was, if the rumours of her affair with the fashion editor of Witch Weekly were true – but there were two very obvious problems with this particular fantasy. One: Ginny and Draco were nowhere near the vicinity of marriage. Two: Draco was not even invited to the wedding. But pointing out these issues would likely start an interrogation that Ginny would much rather avoid, so she forced a small smile and steered the conversation to other wedding preparations.

Still, as she and Hermione left the boutique and started making their way down Diagon Alley, she found Madame Rosanna's comment poking into her thoughts like an unwanted itch. The topic was a dangerous territory to be sure, but she decided to broach it anyway. "I was wondering–"

"Ginny, please don't," Hermione said wearily.

"What?"

"I know what you're going to say."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"It's written all over your face." Hermione stated. "You're thinking of inviting Draco to the wedding."

"I'm allowed a plus one, aren't I?" Ginny asked. Her relationship with Draco was going smooth, and his meeting with her parents had not ended in disaster. It would be nice to have him at Ron's wedding. Of course, she'd have to convince him to come in the first place, which would be a hard feat in itself; the blond git was prouder than a hippogriff, and just as stubborn. He would not want to return to the 'Weasley territory' so soon, but she will make him. It was the only way to get him and her family to mingle and become better acquainted with each other. "Would it be so bad if he comes?"

"Ron will throw a fit. And frankly, I'm not too keen on the idea as well." Hermione replied bluntly. "Malfoy will always be the boy who bullied us ruthlessly–"

"He's not that person anymore."

"Perhaps, but I still don't approve of your relationship with him."

"Please, don't hold back your opinion," Ginny muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Hermione reached out and grabbed her by the arm, making them both halt in the middle of the street. "I don't like or trust Malfoy, but I am trying to be a good friend and accept – if not understand – whatever it is that you two have. You have to give me some time." She took a deep breath. "That being said, I _cannot_ have him at my wedding, Ginny."

A part of Ginny wanted to protest, but another part – perhaps the more logical one – could see the reasoning behind Hermione's aversion to Draco. He _had_ been a bully back at Hogwarts – an unbelievably cruel one at that – and both Ron and Hermione had suffered because of him countless times. "Alright. You're right." she conceded. "It was unfair of me to ask. This is the biggest day of your life and it should all be about you."

Hermione eyed her dubiously. "And you're not angry?"

"Why would I be?" Ginny asked as she wrapped an arm around the brunette's shoulders lovingly and tugged her along with her. "My brother is marrying one of my best friends. I couldn't be happier!"

"But Malfoy–"

"Can wait." As much as she wanted her friends to get along with Draco and to see that he had indeed become a decent man after the war, there would be other, more appropriate times to do so. "And I spend so much time with him already, so its fine. Really."

Hermione smiled, finally convinced that there were no hard feelings between them. "Thank you."

Now that the sort-of argument was over, going over to _Fortescue & Finnigan Ice Cream Parlour_ for a scoop or two of ice cream felt like the most logical thing to do. Plus, the place was now owned by Seamus Finnigan – who had only partially changed the name to honour its last owner – and he was very generous with the amount of syrup he poured onto their orders.

They found Harry and Neville sitting at a table, half-eaten, rapidly melting sundaes in hand, so deeply engrossed in their conversation that they didn't notice the girls until they dropped into seats before them.

"Blimey!" Neville started with a hand on his heart, then his face broke into a smile. "You two scared me!"

"Where's your Gryffindor courage, Neville?" Ginny teased. Normally, the question would have been answered either with a joke thrown back her way or a list of the heroics performed by the two men, but the slightly grim smiles she received in response were cause for concern. "What's wrong?"

"We were just dicussing what happened in Rouen," Harry said.

"It's so tragic," Neville added with a shake of his head.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"This." Harry pushed a copy of the Daily Prophet before them.

Half of the front page was covered with a photograph depicting five dead bodies laid down in a line, covered in shrouds, while a teenage boy knelt before them, openly weeping.

 **MASSACRE IN ROUEN: WIZARDING FAMILY KILLED BY MUGGLES  
** _By, Padma Patil_

 _The French wizarding community is in shock after a wizarding family was found brutally murdered in Rouen, Normandy._

 _French Ministry of Magic employee Alfred Chaucer, 54, was found dead in his home last night along with his wife Lisa, 57, and three of their children: John, 21, Chloe, 10 and 5-year-old Stephanie. The words "Death to Magical Freaks" were painted in blood on their wall._

 _Investigation has revealed that the crime was committed by a group of three muggle men who are currently at large. "The motive behind the killings is, as of yet, unclear, but we are doing everything in our power to bring the culprits to justice," Fabien Dupont, Head of the Bureau des Aurors, told the press._

 _The only surviving member of the family is sixteen-year-old Jeremy Chaucer (photographed above), who was at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic when the attack took place. Chaucer was utterly devastated at the loss of his parents and siblings and refused to speak to the press. He was seen being escorted away from the crime scene by the Aurors._

 _Edmond Lefebvre, Advisor to the French Minister for Magic, has declared this incident a "cold-hearted murder fuelled by hatred" and has raised concerns on the relationship between the magical and muggle community in the country._

The article went on to detail how the bodies were discovered, but Ginny couldn't bring herself to read more. There was a bad taste in her mouth. "They even killed the children?" she demanded in disbelief, knowing full well what the answer was and that none of her friends could give her any explanation as to why that had happened.

"Poor fellow, that Jeremy," Neville murmured. "I can't even imagine what he's going through."

Hermione, however, was frowning. "But how did the muggles know that the Chaucers were wizards?" she asked. "If the International Statute of Secrecy had been breached, shouldn't the Ministry have done something about it?"

"That's the thing: so far as the French Ministry knew, it wasn't breached," Harry told them. He glanced around as if to make sure that no none was within earshot, then leaned forward towards them. "But I spoke to a friend from the Bureau des Aurors – we solved a case together a couple of years ago – and he says that the crime was much closer to home than it seems."

"What does that mean?" Ginny asked.

"Haven't the slightest." Harry shrugged. "He couldn't tell me more because its still an ongoing investigation, but he sounded worried."

"As he should be," Hermione said gravely. "An incident like this will have consequences."

The words held a weight that rendered them all silent for a few minutes, each of them trying to contemplate what these consequences would likely be. There would be an outcry from public, no doubt, and the muggles responsible would be captured and punished. The French Auror department was almost as good as the British one, and there was no way that a few muggles would be able to outrun highly-trained wizards for very long.

"I should head back to office," Hermione broke the silence as she got to her feet. "We're drawing up a new treaty with the Centaurs and hell will break loose if I am late for that meeting."

Goodbyes were quick and her departure swift, but it had snapped them out of the gloom that the article had engulfed them in. Hoping to keep the conversation from reverting back to that once again, Ginny turned to Neville. "How's the apprenticeship going?" she asked. After the war had ended, Neville had signed up as an Auror. It was only a couple of years ago that he had quit and decided to follow his real passion: Herbology.

"Great!" Neville smiled brightly, and Ginny could have sworn that the teenage girls sitting at a nearby table nearly swooned at the sight. Neville was as much of a hero as the Golden Trio, after all. "I'll be finished in a couple of months." He shifted lightly, as if contemplating whether to continue or not. "Actually Pomona – Professor Sprout, I mean – told me the other day that she plans to retire at the end of this school year so can write her book, and she's recommended me as her replacement."

"Neville, that's wonderful!" Ginny almost jumped in her seat with joy.

Harry patted his shoulder lightly. "Well-deserved, mate."

"Thanks," Neville mumbled, his cheeks pink. "But don't tell anyone just yet. I'm still waiting for McGonagall to speak to me, so it's not a confirmed news."

"She'll be foolish to not hire you," Harry stated matter-of-factly. "And you'll make a great professor, Nev."

Neville smiled sheepishly, his eyes twinkling with joy. "Luna said she was very proud of me, and that there must have been a _sariok_ perched outside my window that day," he said, and upon noticing their bewildered expressions, added, "Apparently it's a bird that brings luck."

Ginny hid a smile. Luna and her creatures! The blonde girl had sent her a letter few weeks ago, detailing her adventures through Brazilian rainforests in search for blorals, which sounded as odd as one would expect from a Lovegood, but brilliant nonetheless. "Is she going to attend the wedding?"

"She wouldn't miss it for the world. But she's only coming for a few days; doesn't have much time, that one." They had been dating since after the war, but Luna's work required for her to travel quite a bit, just like Neville's required for him to stay put.

"I'm sorry, Nev," Ginny murmured. "It must be hard."

"Sometimes. But we make it work." Neville said. "Speaking of hard relationships, how's yours?"

The question caught her off-guard, though it probably shouldn't have. Enough time had passed for her friends to get over the shock of her relationship with Draco, but that did not mean that they were not curious about it.

Her mind wandered back to the night she and Draco had spent opening up about their exes. Getting to know his feelings about Pansy – which were there in some form, even though he had tried to hide it – and telling him about what had happened between her and Harry had felt uncomfortable at the time, but in the end she had felt nothing but relief. It was as if a veil had dropped from between them, leaving behind an honesty that was appreciated on both sides.

However, Draco had behaved rather oddly the morning after. She had woken up to the sight of him pacing restlessly in the room, and he had seemed… _jumpy_ , for lack of a better word. Of course, when she had asked, he had simply told her in his typically colourful manner that she was being silly. That had been two days ago, and she hadn't seen him since. He had, however, sent her an owl asking if she had any plans for New Year's. So perhaps, she had over-imagined his behaviour; it could have been a nightmare. He never talked about those.

"Can't complain," she replied.

"I met him at Hogwarts last week," Neville said. "He was there to meet Slughorn, but he stopped by the greenhouse to ask if we grew Sopophorous plant. We had a nice chat about whether its vascular tissue does indeed can be used in targeting specific cells that are potentially corr–" He noted the blank stares of his friends and sighed exasperatedly. "Honestly, did no one read Tilden Toots' paper in _The Herbology Heritage_?"

"Wait, so you discussed Herbology with _Malfoy_?" Harry asked incredulously, though she did detect a slight hint of accusation in his tone.

"I'd thought that he had come to hex me, mate. I was ready with my wand and everything." Neville shrugged. "But he started talking about plants, and he knew quite a bit about what he was talking about."

"He is surprisingly well read," Ginny stated. "Though not as much as Hermione."

"Yeah, well, Hermione has set up a bar that us mere mortals can only dream of achieving!" Neville said lightly as he stood up and picked up a couple of bags filled with Herbology supplies. "I should head back. A dozen or so Mandrakes await me."

In a span of few minutes, Ginny found herself alone with Harry as the two of them exited the ice cream parlour and stood in the middle of the busy street. It wasn't awkward between them, not really, but spending time alone with each other had become a rarity after their breakup. In the absence of friends or family members, and with that night's conversation with Draco still fresh in her mind, she found herself at a loss of what to say.

Mercifully, Harry did know what to say. "Have you bought a wedding gift for Ron and Hermione?"

Ginny pressed her lips together sheepishly. "I found this delicious vintage wine in Paris, so I bought a pair and had ' _The goof'_ and ' _The bookworm'_ engraved onto the corks, along with their wedding date."

Harry laughed. "That's brilliant!"

"You're not being sarcastic?"

"Of course not. I'm sure they will love it." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Now, if only I can them something that good."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, I found the first edition of Oliver Twist at a bookshop the other day." He replied. "It's a muggle classic. Hermione will appreciate that."

"But that leaves Ron."

"And therein lies my problem," Harry said dramatically.

Ginny could not help but smile. She had almost forgotten that he had developed a tendency for the theatrics after the war – well, more so than before. It had started as a joke between them on one of the many nights that they had spent in the cosy living room of their flat, eating pizza, snuggling on the sofa and laughing over the silliest things. Her heart ached and she forced herself away from the memories. "You could buy him a book too."

He shot her a deadpan look; it was no secret that Ron was not the biggest fan of reading for leisure.

"No, I mean it," she insisted as she grabbed his arm and led him towards Flourish and Blotts. People were starting to stare, as they always did whenever the Boy Who Lived Twice was around, and she was not a fan of having an audience outside of the Quidditch stadium. "Didn't the Chudley Canons publish a photobook earlier this week?"

"Yeah, but that won't be as special as the book I'd be getting Hermione," he mumbled, then suddenly his eyes lit up. "Unless I get it autographed by the team."

"Ron will love that!" Ever since she had joined the Harpies, she had often jokingly complained that he should support her now, but her brother's love for the Canons had remained undeterred.

"How am I going to get their autographs, though?"

"I can find out when their next practice is," she offered. She was on good terms with most of the players; being a Quidditch star had its benefits, after all. "And you can swing by and ask them to sign the book."

"That'd be great." Harry smiled at her. "Thanks, Gin."

Flourish and Blotts was surprisingly busy, considering it wasn't the 'shopping for school' season. While Harry waited in queue to pay for his purchase, Ginny wandered through different aisles until a small book caught her eye: _**How to be a Good Dark Wizard?**_

Intrigued, she picked it up and read its back cover:

 _Are you interested in spreading some chaos but don't know where to start?  
Or have you already started and have been defeated by those wretchedly annoying forces of good?  
Enter, _How to be a Good Dark Wizard? – _your go-to guide to evilness.  
In 50 easy steps, you will find your morale boosted, your sneers perfected, your cloaks of evil flouncing and your mind brimming with some major wicked ideas.  
Learn a few moves and go spread some darkness in this world! *_

 _* Warning: Steps won't work on evil wizards who underestimate babies in cribs. Those poopy fellows can kill you. Just ask You-Know-Who._

This was pure genius, she thought with a laugh. It was a surprise – or a shame, rather – that George hadn't come up with this.

"All done!" Harry stated as he walked up to her, the nicely wrapped book tucked under his arm. "What's that?" He scanned the title, then rolled his eyes. "Sweet Merlin's diapers! I can't believe someone wrote that, and that people actually buy this."

"Oh, where's your sense of humour?" Ginny teased as she glanced contemplatively at the much-too-long queue at the counter. "I'm tempted to buy a copy myself."

"Whatever for?" he asked incredulously.

"For Draco, of course." The words slipped out of her mouth and she realised belatedly exactly who she was talking to. Shit.

The smile left Harry's lips in an instant and his shoulders stiffened. He stared at her silently for a moment that seemed to linger longer than was necessary, his green eyes filled with an accusation of a betrayal that pierced through her. "I'm not getting in line with you."

"I didn't ask you to," Ginny said softly and placed the book back on the shelf. "I don't have to buy it. It's fine, really –" she stopped when she noticed that the space next to her was empty.

He had already turned on his heels and stormed out of the bookshop.

She stood rooted to the spot in a mixture of confusion and shock, then hurried after him. "Harry! Wait!" she called. He did not stop, but he slowed down enough so that she could catch up with him. "A little warning would have been nice before you abandoned me in there."

"You're not a child," he retorted. "And it's not my job to look after you."

"What's your problem?"

Harry glared at her. "You know what my problem is."

"Say it," Ginny ordered.

"Why did it have to be Malfoy?" he demanded, his voice low enough to remain just between the two of them, but fierce enough to reveal his discomfort. "Of all the people in the world that you could have dated, you picked him?"

"Yes, I did."

His eyes narrowed sceptically. "Are you trying to punish me?"

"Oh, fuck you!" Her irritation had flared up remarkably in the past few minutes, not that the Weasley temper needed much time to make itself known, and she was utterly sick of tiptoeing around everyone in regards to her relationship with Draco. If they couldn't make their peace with it, then it was not her problem. "Not everything is about you."

"For Merlin's sake, he's Lucius Malfoy's son. The man who slipped Tom Riddle's diary into your possessions. Or have you forgotten that?"

Ginny stilled at that. How dare he? How dare he ask her that when he was perhaps the only person in this whole world to whom she had bared her soul. He knew full well that the events of her first year at Hogwarts would haunt her forever. "I remember better than you, thank you very much."

"Then why would you even–"

"Because I actually like him, you self-righteous bastard!" She snarled. "And because I don't think he is irredeemable. I thought you did too, or do you only preach forgiveness when there are cameras around?"

"Look at you, Gin. You already sound like him." He shook his head in disbelief. "Don't you see what he's turning you into?"

"Well right now, you're the one who has turned me into this," she pointed out.

" _Right_. I forgot that it's my fault," Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes. "It has always been my fault."

Ginny knew by his tone where the conversation was heading: back to their break-up, back to all those nights they had spent shouting at each other. It was the last thing she wanted. "Don't start," she said wearily. "I'm not going to have this argument with you all over again."

There was a lull in their conversation, but the silence was strained because it was weighed down by the multitude of things that they had said to each other over the years, and also haunted by the things that were left unsaid.

It was Harry who spoke up, but his voice was soft. "Did you never consider it?" he asked. "Us getting back together."

Sweet Merlin. If only he knew how many times she had thought of just popping over to Grimmauld Place and throwing herself into his arms in the last year. But she hadn't. She couldn't. "Harry," she whispered pleadingly. "Please don't–"

"I miss you, Gin."

There was once a time that she would have burst with joy upon hearing these words, but now they only made her want to weep. That Harry harboured feelings for her was not a surprise; Draco had insisted on it the other night, and even though she had denied it, she had known somewhere deep down in her heart that it was true. Their breakup had been a complicated one, where they had decided to end things between them despite the fact that they both loved each other terribly. She knew that Harry held, and will always hold, a special place in her heart, but that did not mean that trying to rekindle that relationship was in any way a wise idea.

She turned to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed her hand. "We're not done talking," he said quietly as he pulled her down the mouth of one of the narrow paths that led to Knockturn Alley, away from the eyes of numerous spectators.

Ginny was not quite sure why she was allowing him to lead her so when what she wanted was to get as far away from this conversation as soon as possible, and yet the idea of pulling away from Harry and leaving him alone when he was clearly upset about this whole situation felt cruel.

Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – she did not have to ponder much about whether to stay or leave, for the moment they turned around the corner, Harry bumped headfirst into a very familiar blond man.

" _Oof!_ Sorry, I–"

" _Merde_!" Draco growled as the shopping bag in his arms split open and its contents, which appeared to be a vast amount of potion ingredients all labelled with the stamp of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, spilled down his front and fell to the ground. "I think those glasses might need changing, Potter. It's either that, or you're just being a confounded nuisance as usual."

"I wasn't paying attention," Harry said shortly.

Draco's eyes came to rest on her and moved very pointedly from her face to her hand which was still in Harry's grasp. " _Clearly._ "

Sweet Merlin, could his tone have been more inconvenient? ' _Clearly_ ', he had said, but whether that single word was a taunt to Harry, a veiled accusation towards her or simply an irritated remark, she could not tell.

"Draco," Ginny began, unsure whether she should try to offer him some sort of explanation or not. She was, however, distracted by the fumes emanating from his arm. "A-Are you on fire?"

The blond swore in French – which he usually did and upon being asked about it, he had told her that somehow cussing in that language was a lot more fun than doing so in English – and quickly diffused the fumes with a flick of his wand, but the damage was done. Whatever potion ingredient had spilled onto him had corroded the fabric of his sleeve up to his elbow, baring his skin beneath. "You owe me a new set of robes, Potter," he grumbled as he eyed the mess on the ground, probably wondering if any of his shopping could be salvaged. His deliberation did not seem to last long; less than a second later, he vanished all the items on the ground and started to move past them.

Harry, who had been glaring at Draco with an odd suspicion, stepped in his way. "You know, I've been hunting your old mates for six years now," he said. "Death Eaters, I mean."

"Get out of my way." Draco said, his voice low. A moment passed and he tried to push past the spectacled man, only to be stopped once again.

"Voldemort certainly left his mark on you lot, hasn't he?" Harry went on. "His death has caused the ink to drain, but the scar remains."

Ginny frowned. If this was Harry's way to humiliate her boyfriend, then it was a horrible way to do so and she would not stand for it. And if her Hogwarts memories were anything to go by, such a conversation between these two men would most certainly lead to a duel, which was something that she wanted to avoid at all costs. "Stop this," she ordered.

Nobody paid any attention to her. The two idiots just stood there stiffly, engrossed in their glaring match.

"Tell me, Draco," Harry demanded as he grabbed his arm and jerked it up, revealing the jet-black symbol of Voldemort etched onto his pale skin. "Why is your Dark Mark still alive?"

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley's mind was reeling.

After the war had ended, every Death Eater had been exposed. It didn't matter if they were captured, pardoned or on the run, everyone knew who was included in Voldemort's inner circle. So, it was not then surprising – though it was utterly foolish – that she had somehow forgotten that an inactive Dark Mark was nothing but a faint mark, like an old scar.

The brand on Draco's arm was anything but that. It was 'alive', just as Harry has said.

And it had been like that during the entirety of their relationship. Black and vivid, right in front of her. But she hadn't noticed it.

Harry was right. But did that mean that Draco was wrong?

* * *

 **There. Not much of a chapter, to be honest but necessary for what is coming up. I hope you all liked it. Please do review and let me know.**

 **Oh, and I know Neville ends up with Hannah Abbott and Luna marries Newt's grandson in the canon, but Neville/Luna was hinted at in the movies (which I found kinda adorable!). Who Neville ends up is not central to this story, so you can envision either of those endgames. For now, he's dating Luna.**

 **Until next time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Greetings, my readers!** **I wanted to thank you all for the response to the last chapter. And without further ado, here is the next one. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 10**

* * *

Ginny Weasley was trapped in a tug of war.

She trusted Harry completely, which meant that his suspicions could not be disregarded. On the other hand, Draco… well, in the few months that she had come to know him, she had seen no inclination in him towards his family's old ways. Was it all an act, though? Her heart refused to believe it, and she felt deep down that she could trust him.

But could she really?

 **xx**

"Why is your Dark Mark still alive?"

If her life had been like one of those muggle dramas on television, the world would have frozen around Ginny to let her process the magnitude of those seven words. But her life was not a TV show, and even though she found herself bound in chains of bewilderment, the argument occurring between her current boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend continued on without any care for her.

"Shove off, Potter!"

"Not until you answer my question, Malfoy."

"I don't owe you any answers," Draco snarled as he wrenched his arm away.

"About this, you do." Harry responded calmly, though he had pulled out his wand. "I'm the Deputy Head of the Auror Department and I've every right to ask you why your Dark Mark is active."

Draco stilled for a moment, then he raised his chin in open defiance. "My records are clean, and you have no evidence whatsoever pertaining to my involvement in anything even remotely suspicious." he declared. "So, let's not pretend that this is about you doing your job, when we both know that you just can't stomach the idea of me fucking the girl you happen to be in love with."

It all happened too quickly. Harry's face twisted in anger and he punched Draco. The blond stumbled a step back and then shot a curse at Harry, who was quick to retaliate. Purple and red jets of light erupted from the tips of their wands and met in the middle, sending bright sparks flying all about them.

The altercation, however, did spur Ginny into action. "No! Stop!" she shouted as she jumped in between them. She pushed Harry back and turned to glare at Draco threateningly. "Stop this right now!"

The spells halted now that she was in the way of fire, which was some relief, but the commotion had attracted an audience. Whispers grew closer as the shoppers of Diagon Alley peeked through the narrow opening of the alley to see what was going on. Merlin, this was bad. Rita Skeeter would most certainly make a field day out of this. And if Harry was to repeat his accusations then it would ruin Draco; the wizarding community had not entirely forgiven the Malfoys for their role in the war, and if they found out about this, they would most certainly demand him to be incarcerated in Azkaban.

Draco seemed to falter at the arrival of the spectators, which did not come as a surprise to Ginny. She knew how much his family's image mattered to him and how he had been working to alter it ever since the war had ended. His eyes moved from the people to her – she could not read them, though – and then he turned on his heels and stormed down the alley.

Caught somewhere between bewilderment and curiosity, Ginny moved to follow him – she desperately needed an explanation and he was the only one who could give it to her – when a hand grabbed her arm in an iron grip.

"Don't, Gin," Harry said.

"Let go of me," she retorted.

"Malfoy is hiding something," Harry insisted. "He can't be trusted. I can't let you go after him."

"I thought it was not your job to look after me anymore," she reminded him. Hadn't he just said that to her minutes ago when they had left the bookshop?

Harry took a step towards her. "Gin–"

"Do _not_ follow me," she growled as she wrenched her arm out of his grasp. "Do _not_ follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, she went off after Draco. She did pull out her wand on the way; she was not stupid, after all. Her mind was in a haze though, the revelation had struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she felt stupid for not seeing what had been in front of her all this time.

Harry was most certainly jealous, but his experiences with the Dark Arts gave credibility to his instincts. She could recall all those discussions in the Gryffindor common room she had had with Harry, where he had discussed his suspicions of Draco being a Death Eater. She had dismissed those as paranoia, just like everyone else, and he had turned out to be right.

But was he right this time as well?

Ginny had first seen Draco's Dark Mark on their third date, when he had taken her to the Malfoy Manor and they had undressed each other eagerly. She remembered pausing in shock upon seeing the scars on his body – the cut on his shoulder blade, the gash on his thigh and the darkened burnt skin on his lower back – and she _had_ noticed, and then promptly ignored, the black skull and snake tattoo on his left forearm. Drowned as she was at the time in lust, she had felt no need to acknowledge his Dark Mark; she had known, after all, that he had once been a member of Voldemort's inner circle, and she'd also heard the tales of how reluctant he had been to serve from Harry. It didn't occur to her then, or in the months of dating that followed, that an inactive Dark Mark is supposed to be like an old, faded scar while his was anything but that.

She walked down the Knockturn Alley, scanning the area for any sign of her boyfriend. The place was just as creepy as it had once been, with shady looking robed figures strutting about, though the Ministry had shut down some of the more questionable shops after the war. Still, it was no secret that the trade of banned objects still went on in this area, albeit in a more underground manner. It was human nature to find a way to do what was forbidden, she supposed, and there would always be those for whom the lure of evil is irresistible.

A flash of very familiar blond hair sent her propelling around another corner, into a dank backstreet that was empty. She stopped warily but had no time to ponder anything, for someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her into a narrow gap between two buildings.

She shoved her assailant back with all her might and turned around, only to find herself face to face with Draco. There was a small bruise on his cheek, where Harry had punched him, but his expression was blank as he reached out for her once again. Ginny tried to duck underneath his arm, but he must have anticipated her move, for he grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her against the wall.

"Hello, darling."

Ginny brought up her wand and placed it right beneath his jaw, its tip digging into his skin. She would be damned if she let him get an advantage over her.

His stormy eyes flickered down for a moment before meeting hers once again. "You seem awfully defensive."

"I could say the same about you." Ginny felt something touch her stomach and she glanced down to realise that Draco, too, had pointed his wand at her. Stalemate, then.

"You're so sexy when you're fierce," he whispered.

She had no patience for this game of words of his. "Why is your Dark Mark active?"

"I don't owe–"

"I'm the girl you're fucking, as you so _politely_ pointed out to Harry when you threw our relationship in his face," she pointed out coolly. "You _do_ owe me answers."

Draco's nonchalant demeanour dropped at that. "Potter's jealous, Ginevra," he said. "He's trying to create a rift between us because he is still in love with you. I told you before that I will not compete with him."

"This isn't about competition," she said. "Harry asked you a very valid question, and I'm sorry but your reaction doesn't exactly paint you squeaky clean."

"My mark has always been like that," he told her.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!" He insisted. "You've seen it."

She had seen it. He was right about that much, but whether he was right about all of it, she could not tell. "Alright. _Why_ is it like this, then?"

"I don't know." The words were emotionless, but there was something in his posture – a slight shift in his step, that for whatever reason told her that he was trying to hide something.

"Draco, I want you to be honest with me," Ginny said softly.

His expression shifted suddenly, as if he had just realised something and whatever it was, he did not seem to like it. "You don't trust me." It wasn't a question, and he did not wait for an answer. "Well then, there is really no point to this, is there?" He took a step back and lowered his wand. "Goodbye, Ginevra."

And then he disapparated.

That wanker.

 **xx**

The sky was tinted in hues of bold orange and red as the sun slowly made its way down behind the distant hills that surrounded the fells, painting the tall trees that surrounded the Malfoy Manor in dark shadows.

It had only been a few hours since that hurricane of a confrontation at Diagon Alley, but to Ginny it felt like centuries. She had spent the time wandering aimlessly around the streets of London, in hopes that some miracle would help her make sense of what had happened.

Draco's claim that his Dark Mark had always been like this seemed to carry some weight; she had seen it be so for the past few months, hadn't she? What more she had seen was how traumatised by the war, how it still haunted his dreams and how much he wanted to leave his past behind. Besides, she could not quite explain the reason behind it, but her heart refused to believe that Draco was up to something wrong. The only conclusion she had reached was that she needed to speak to him again, which brought her to the front door of the Manor.

She was let in by a rather grumpy looking house elf named Soodey, who told her that Draco was in the Potions room and only agreed to give her the directions when she promised that she would not ask him to make tea. As she walked through the hallways, eyeing the massive portraits and the intricate tapestries, she realised how huge the Manor was and how little she had seen of it. Her visits had usually been limited to Draco's bedroom, his study, the Main Hall, the breakfast room and a living room or two. Perhaps she would ask Draco to give her a tour one of these day – that is, if things worked out between them.

She hoped it would.

The doors to the potions room were ajar. Inside, the walls were lined with shelves stocked with glass containers filled with various ingredients and what appeared to be bottles of already prepared potions. Draco stood in front of a counter, stirring the contents of a cauldron. He stopped suddenly and turned to glare at a trembling Yugo standing not far from him. "What is the matter with you today?" he demanded.

Yugo shook his head, but his emotions clearly got the better of him and he broke into tears. "I-It is so unfair, M-Master. W-Why did he have to d-die?"

"Who died?" Draco asked, his voice torn somewhere between concern and bewilderment.

"M-Mister Jack, and poor Miss Rose had to l-live without him," Yugo pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose rather loudly. "It's all the fault of that stupid ice block, Master sir. And the boat, of course."

"What in the name of _Merlin's buttock_ are you talking about?"

"Titanic, sir, and Mister Jack's and Miss Rose's forbidden love," the elf explained. "Yugo saw it all on the television."

Draco's gaze went up, as if asking the heavens for strength to face a world that was clearly much more stupid in contrast to the genius he considered himself to be. "I knew it was a mistake to buy that stupid muggle device for you lot," he muttered dryly as he tossed some roots into a mortar and started mincing them with a pestle. "Go on, then. Take the day off. You clearly need time to mourn."

Yugo shook his head, wide-eyed. "B-But what will become of Master sir?"

"I will have you know that I am perfectly capable of functioning on my own."

The elf eyed him dubiously, as if he didn't think it was possible, but he did not voice his opinion. "Master sir can call Yugo if he needs Yugo."

"Don't I always?"

Yugo shuffled on his feet sheepishly and then disapparated with a loud _pop_.

Ginny, who had seen the small interaction from the hallway, found herself oddly touched. She had only heard tales of how the Malfoys had been cruel masters to Dobby, and how the house elves had been treated horribly by the ancient pureblood families. In the last few months, she had witnessed Yugo's loyalty to Draco and how the latter seemed to rely on the elf for various tasks, but she had perceived it to be a typical relationship between servant and employer. What she had seen just now was something filled with compassion; Draco's face had certainly been a mixture of fondness and nark – a combination of emotions that she often displayed towards her brothers whenever they made too many jokes at her expanse.

"The world is turning upside down and here you are making potions," she commented as she stepped into the room. As much as she wanted to, standing in the shadows and observing Draco was not going to get her anywhere. "It's nice to see that your priorities are straight."

He glanced up sharply at the sound of her voice, but otherwise seemed unsurprised to see her there. "I can only speak for myself, but Potter being a suspicious bastard is not news enough to turn my world upside down." He paused for a moment, then asked, "How'd you get in?"

"Soodey," she responded.

His lips twitched. "Did you promise not to ask for tea?"

"I did." She frowned. "Why does he hate tea?"

"You would too, if your grandfather had drowned in a cauldron full of it."

Ginny wondered if he was telling that truth or if it was some sort of dark humour that she had failed to understand. She opened her mouth to ask, then decided against it; there were some things that she was better off not knowing. "What are you brewing?" she asked instead.

"Shrinking solution."

"Why do you need shrinking solution?"

"I don't," Draco stated as he tossed what she now recognised to be minced daisy roots into the cauldron. "I find potion making to be therapeutic."

So, he _was_ affected by the events that had taken place at Diagon Alley, so much so that he felt the need to do something that would calm him down. The realisation filled her with an odd relief; she hated herself for feeling so, but somehow the idea of a Draco utterly indifferent to the accusations that had been thrown his way felt dangerous.

"I never much cared for potion making," she told him. She had barely passed her O.W.L and had opted not to take the subject in her NEWTs.

"It requires a lot of patience, which is not your best trait." Draco nodded towards a cabinet to her right. "Fetch me a vial of leech juice from there, will you?"

Ginny obeyed, but only after shooting him a glare. "And you're good with patience, I take it?"

"I'm good with potions, darling." He said smugly as he added the disgusting leech juice into his concoction without even looking, but he must have added the correct amount, for the potion turned the correct colour of bright green. "In fact, it was the one subject where I scored better than even Granger." Some doubt must have shown on her face, for he added icily, "You can check the records at Hogwarts, if you like."

"No, no," She shook her head. Asking McGonagall for old records seemed like too much work. Besides, he was clearly very accomplished at the subject. "I trust you."

"Do you?"

Something in Draco's tone made her look at him, only to find his expression solemn. A silence lingered between them, and she found herself bound in his gaze, hoping that she would be able to decipher some truth from it.

"My Dark Mark has been like this since the day I got it."

"Why?" she asked. He had tried to shrug it off in the alley before, and it had felt like a lie. Would he do the same this time?

"I am not sure." He looked away and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "M-Maybe the Dark Lord altered the spell after he returned."

He really did seem uncertain, Ginny noted, but could that be the reason? Perhaps. Voldemort had gained countless new supporters during the Second Wizarding War, but he had been very particular about who he let into his innermost circle. As far as they knew, Draco was the only one who had been branded with the Dark Mark after Voldemort's return.

Unable to decide just yet, she shook her head and leaned against the counter, choosing to just observe him for a bit. He seemed to be uncomfortable under her scrutiny, but instead of commenting on it, he focused his attention on storing his potion in a couple of vials and cleaning away the remnants. It didn't last long, though, and less then a few minutes had passed before he stormed over to her. Patience, it seemed, was running low all around that day.

"Ginevra," He grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her against him. "Whatever it is that Potter thinks I'm involved in, I'm not. I have no reason to lie to you. Please, believe that."

"Alright."

Draco blinked. "Alright?"

"I believe you," Ginny said, her mind made up. She didn't know everything about Draco, but she knew enough to know that there was no way that he would be reverting back to his old ways. Whatever the deal with the Dark Mark was, it was not intentional on his part. "Don't ever betray my trust."

For a moment, he seemed terribly moved by her words, but he was quick to reign his emotions back. "Thank you." His fingers travelled down from her elbows to her wrists, and he asked in a soft whisper, "May I kiss you?"

A small smile spread on her lips inadvertently. "You may."

Their lips met, and she felt every fibre of her body burst into flames and he was her summer rain, ready to extinguish everything and yet bring it all to life. It was silly, really, how her thoughts had started turning into poetry whenever he took her face in his hands. His touch felt possessive, but not in a bad way; it was as if he had no intention of ever letting her go now that he had her, and she knew that her own touch brimmed with a similar feel. She buried her fingers in his hair and tugged hard, pulling him even closer.

A popping sound caused them to part.

"Sorry, sir." Soodey stood in the doorway, his skinny legs trembling as he eyed them nervously. "T-The Aurors are here."

"Aurors?" Ginny asked, perplexed. "Why would–"

"Potter," Draco muttered as he quickly tried to straighten his unruly hair. "You should go." Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the room, all the masks of superiority and arrogance that he usually had on his face when he was out and about in public snapping back into place.

She stood in the potions room for a less than a minute before she decided to follow him. No one told her what to do. Besides, if Harry and Draco were going to have another confrontation, it was best that she stayed and tried to control it.

Sure enough, Harry was standing in the entrance lobby along with Nigel Wolpert. "Draco Malfoy," he was saying. "You are suspected of being involved in suspicious Death Eater activity. We'd like you to come to the Ministry with us for questioning."

"It will be in everyone's interest for you to cooperate, Mr. Malfoy," Nigel added, his hand inching towards his pocket in a very open threat. "If you don't, we have the written permission of the Head of our department to bring you in anyway."

"You see, Draco," Harry smirked. "I can meet you at your level."

"You can't be serious!" Ginny couldn't help but interject as she moved to stand next to her boyfriend. This feud was ridiculous, and she knew that these two idiots would keep on sparring pointlessly just because their stupid egos demanded it. _Men._

Harry appeared taken off guard by her appearance, but he was quick to recover. "Gin, stay out of this."

"Like hell I will! Harry, this is insane, and you know it."

"I'm just doing my job."

"Oh?" Ginny challenged. "Is that what this is?"

Harry's eyes met hers for a moment – he was hurt by her words, but whether her insinuation was correct or not, she could not tell. "Yes, it is," he stated coldly and raised an eyebrow at Draco, as if waiting for his response.

"Ginevra," Draco turned to her. "It's fine."

It wasn't and she knew it, but she could not do anything but watch helplessly as the Aurors took Draco's wand and then escorted him out of the Manor and its wards so that they could disapparate to the Ministry.

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley was trapped in a tug of war.

She trusted Harry completely, even though she was having a hard time understanding the motivations behind his actions. She trusted Draco as well – she trusted him to handle this situation and come out on the other side of it, proven innocent.

But this feud between the two men was not going to end anytime soon, and the prospect of it _unsettled_ her. It was… a peculiar but dangerous feeling. Something was wrong. And something more would be.

* * *

 **Is Harry being unfair, or is he simply doing his duty? Is Ginny being foolish in trusting Draco? And what is Draco up to? To find out the answers to these and lots more, you'll have to wait for the next chapter, which I am super excited to write. There are a few interactions coming up that I can't wait for you all to read.**

 **Until then, do review and let me know what you thought of this!**

 **Cheers x**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello, my wonderful readers!**

 **I've just noticed that this story now has over a hundred reviews and I want to thank all of you for your support. This (pretty long) chapter is for all of you! :)**

 **I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 11**

* * *

For Draco Malfoy, this was turning out to be one of those weeks where every confrontation that he absolutely did not want to happen, happened.

Whoever was up there in the heavens writing his fate, deserved a special 'fuck you' for all the trouble he was putting him through.

 **xx**

It was way past midnight by the time Draco returned home. He stumbled into his bedroom, nearly blind by the headache that had been plaguing him for a while now, like a dozen stallions thundering inside his skull. But then again, nearly nine hours of interrogation by those thrice-damned Aurors would do that to anyone.

Potter, that wretched, noble fool, had been there the whole time, spurting questions over and over again, while Draco sat in that uncomfortably hard chair, praying to Merlin for strength to not bash the Great Hero's head into a wall. The other Aurors – Nigel Wolpert and Katie Bell, who probably hadn't forgotten that one time when he had nearly killed her by accident back at Hogwarts – were more than willing to vilify him, and so was Weaselbee, who had made a short but very unwelcome cameo in the interrogation room.

Draco was not sure whether the Aurors had spiked his water with Veritaserum, but he was not much concerned about it; the truth serum was limited by what the drinker's believed the truth to be, and one of the first things his Aunt Bellatrix had taught him was to alter his own perception of truth in times of need. Besides, he happened to be an exceptional Occlumens – good enough to even keep the Dark Lord at bay – and he could hence resist the effects of Veritaserum with relative ease.

The lack of evidence against him had left the Ministry with no option but to let him go in the end. All this unnecessary trouble, only because Potter was a jealous bastard.

 _Jealous._

 _Ginevra._

 _Fuck._

She had seemed pretty worried when he had been taken to the Ministry. No doubt she would show up in his room in the dead of the night once she found out that he was back home. Her concern was touching, but her appearance was something that he absolutely did not want. He could very much do without any conversation for a while.

He grabbed a piece of parchment from his coffee table and scribbled a quick note to her ( _All is well. Don't worry. I'll see you later. – DM)_ and had Yugo owl it. He almost asked the elf to bring him some food – he hadn't had anything since breakfast – but his head was pounding and his bed was calling out to him, so he opted to slip into his pajamas and go to sleep.

" _That, right there, is Draco." Lucius Malfoy pointed towards a diagram of some sort of stars._

" _But_ I _am Draco," Draco protested with a frown. He was five years old at the time and had run away from his governess and the stupid arithmetic lesson she insisted on giving him. He'd been caught trying to hide under the table in the library by his father, who was reading something about Astronomy._

" _We named you after the constellation. Well, your mother did. To me, you are a serpent."_

 _He was offended. "Are you calling me a monster, father?"_

" _You are one, aren't you? Giving us all this trouble." His father pointed out, then reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "A serpent is a magnificent creature, son."_

" _Am I that, then?"_

" _You will have to be. You are my heir and the future of the Malfoys will one day rest upon your shoulders, which is why you cannot skip out on your lessons. Iwant you to be perfect."_

 _Draco made a face at the prospect of studying more numbers but nodded obediently; he had to listen to his father, he had to make his father proud._

 _He walked out the door and ended up entering the Blue Parlour, where the sunlight was streaming in through the large windows, making the refracted light from the crystal chandeliers dance merrily on the cyan and pink tapestry._

 _Odd. The parlour was in the left wing on the second floor, nowhere near the library._ _But now that he noticed, that wasn't the only unusual thing that was happening. He was no longer a little boy, but a young man of sixteen._

" _There's no cure for paranoia, Cissy."_

 _He turned his head to find his Aunt Bellatrix sitting on the chaise with his mother. "Don't you see what an honour this is? The Dark Lord has chosen Draco," his aunt was saying._

" _Chosen him for what?" Narcissa demanded._

" _An important mission." Bellatrix shrugged. "The Dark Lord will tell Draco about it today."_

 _Narcissa stood up and started pacing the room, her hands playing with the sleeve of her robe in a rare display of anxiety. "Lucius is already in Azkaban, and it is no secret that the Dark Lord is angry with him for failing to procure the prophecy," she said. "What if – what if this is the Dark Lord's way of punishing us?"_

 _Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he marched up to his mother._ _His father's failings had nothing to do with him at all. This was his moment._ _Could she really not see how big of an opportunity this was? "I think the Dark Lord is more than capable of punishing father even inside the walls of Azkaban if he wished so," he said matter-of-factly. "Luckily, he's willing to give us another chance, mother. Through me."_

 _His aunt smiled at him proudly. "You ready?"_

 _This was it: time to meet the Dark Lord and take the first step towards meeting his destiny. He was nervous, afraid even, but he could not back down. He needed this. His family needed this. And if all turned out well, he will have impressed the Dark Lord and brought glory to the Malfoy name. He straightened his shoulders and met his aunt's probing gaze with as much confidence as he could muster. "I am ready."_

 _He was going to make his father proud._

Draco opened his eyes and watched the remnants of the dream – or was it memory? – fade away into nothing, leaving behind only the sight of the chandelier hanging above his bed. He lay there, motionless, thinking of his father, mother, aunt and his choices until he convinced himself that it was too early in the morning to go gown that particular memory lane. Besides, it would not help his headache, which had mercifully toned down from 'blazing fire' to 'dull throb at the back of his head'.

A quick shower later, he walked out of his room, adjusting his tie in a hurry. He'd been so entangled with the ugly Ministry business that he was behind on his work, which simply would not do. Still, he was nothing if not a good improviser, so he would have his breakfast, get some money out of Gringotts – he'd spent most of the coins in his pockets on those damned potions supplies that had ended up in trash because of the Git Who Lived Twice – and then lock himself in his office until he was satisfied that he had taken care of all the matters that required his attention.

Of course, his plans came to an abrupt halt when he entered the breakfast room and saw his mother standing by the hearth.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

Narcissa Malfoy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Am I no longer welcome in my own home?"

"Of course, you are. I only meant that I was not expecting you."

"I am to see your father at midday, so I thought I would stop by and see you too."

"I am glad you did." Draco kissed her cheek.

She smiled tenderly for a moment, but then shot him a look that filled him with a childish urge to shuffle his feet and apologize. That is what he used to do whenever he was caught breaking the rules as a child. "Not that you left me with much of a choice. You haven't written to me since your last visit."

Ah. _That_ he was guilty of, which is why he could not help the sheepish expression that took over his face. "I'm sorry, mother," he mumbled. "The last few weeks have been a bit busy."

"I think the whole country knows by now that you have been _terribly_ busy." There was something suggestive in her tone that made him frown, and she picked up a folded newspaper from the fireplace mantel and handed it to him. "I think you ought to take a look at today's front page."

Sure enough, almost the entire page was covered with a photograph of Potter and him dueling, and Ginevra jumping in between them to put an end to the fight.

 _ **POTTER-WEASLEY-MALFOY LOVE TRIANGLE TAKES A VIOLENT TURN**_ _  
By, Rita Skeeter_

 _People were left shocked after witnessing a violent altercation between Wizarding World's hero, Harry Potter, and ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy at Diagon Alley last afternoon._

 _The fight seemed to have taken place over Holyhead Harpies' Chaser, Ginny Weasley, who dated Potter for years before their highly publicized break-up over a year ago and has been romantically involved with the Malfoy heir these past few months._

 _Miss Weasley, who was present at the scene, was seen jumping in between the two men in a rash attempt to stop the duel, but it seems highly unlikely that this feud will end anytime soon._

 _The Daily Prophet has exclusively learned that Potter dragged Malfoy to the Ministry "for questioning" about a case that was said to be highly confidential. Whether this is a genuine on-going investigation or simply a jealous move on the part of the Chosen One to wound his competition's reputation is unclear as of yet, but either way this incident does not bode well._

 _Malfoy's relationship with Weasley was met with much surprise from the Wizarding community but seeing that he has already faced much scorn for his blood-purist views (that may or may not still be bubbling underneath that perfectly maintained calm persona) and for being one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, it seems that he is willing to fight Potter when it comes to the matters of the heart._

"For fuck's sake!" Draco seethed as he tossed the newspaper into the hearth. Would that good-for-nothing newspaper ever publish some actual journalistic work?

"Language, Draco." His mother reprimanded him, as she always did whenever he cussed in front of her. "Is it true?"

"That we had fight?" He asked, then gestured towards the photograph in the paper that was quickly being consumed by the flames, much to his satisfaction. "Yes."

"And the part about you being dragged off for questioning?"

He stilled at that. "No one dragged me anywhere."

"I warned you this would happen, did I not?" Narcissa demanded as she grabbed him by the arm to ensure that he would not turn away from her. "Your pointless relationship with the Weasley girl will only deepen this feud, and we cannot afford that."

He could see why his mother was angry. The two of them had worked tirelessly over the last six years to mend the Malfoy reputation, but these damned articles about his love life somehow always seemed to shine a light on his past as a Death Eater. Most of the wizarding community remembered his family's history very well, and those who had started giving him the benefit of the doubt would no doubt be rethinking their decision to do so after reading this particular article, which painted him in a rather suspicious light. That Rita Skeeter sure was a nasty bitch.

"It's the Ministry's usual bullshit, mother," he tried to reason. "The random inspections at work, the weather eye they try to keep on us, the prejudice against the families who wish to uphold the old ways – it's what they do."

"Your actions are bringing unwanted attention onto us, Draco. And not of a good kind. That wasn't the plan–"

"I know what the plan is!" He snapped. "I devised it."

A tense silence followed his outburst as mother and son glared at each other, neither of them willing to back down. "So, you have no intention of ending things with that girl?" Narcissa finally asked.

"I don't." There was no point in lying about it.

"Despite the fact that I disapprove?"

"It is unfortunate that you do, mother."

His response seemed to anger her. "I'm tempted to tell your father of your folly," she said. "Maybe he will knock some sense into you."

Draco could only imagine the hell that his father would raise once he found out that he was bedding the enemy, so to speak. Well, Lucius could not be kept in the dark forever, so that ugly confrontation could not be avoided. But he knew that his father could not force him to end things with Ginevra, he couldn't force him to do anything anymore. It did irk him though, that he was the cause of his mother's displeasure, and soon he would be his father's too; they were the most important people in his life, and yet he could not bring himself to do what they wanted.

" _Mama_ ," he pleaded as he reached out and took her hands in his. It was quite rare for him to address her so, and only happened when he was at his most vulnerable. "I'm happy for the first time in a long time, and I cannot give it up. _Please._ "

Narcissa squeezed his hands lightly, then reached out and brushed back a lock of hair from his brow. "Come," she said. "Let's eat."

Whether this was her accepting his choice, which was very much unlikely, or her simply putting the topic aside for now, which was most likely, he did not ask. They settled down at the small table – the room was only used by the family for meals and had quite an intimate setting, as opposed to the main dining hall that was furnished with a table large enough to seat thirty people – and the meal appeared before them. Poached eggs and sausages with a side of baked beans and toast. And the tea of course, freshly brewed. Draco made a mental note to increase the house elf bonus for the month.

"I was in Paris two days ago," Narcissa told him. "Coline invited me for tea."

"Dare I ask how it went?" Draco smirked. The relationship between his mother and grandmother had always been filled with friction; Narcissa had been Lucius' first and only choice for a bride, but she sure as hell hadn't been Coline's.

"We both came out of it unscathed," His mother said sourly. "But we did see Lukas with Crabbe at Rue du Alters."

That gave him pause. "Crabbe?" he asked. "Vincent Crabbe, you mean?"

"I was just as surprised as you are. And when I explained to Coline why it was so, she was concerned."

"As she should be. Crabbe isn't exactly what you'd call respectable company these days."

Vincent Crabbe had once been Draco's friend, but their relationship deteriorated after the events that took place in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts. Goyle had died, and there was no way either of them could forget that.

Though, if he was being honest with himself, their friendship had been on a downhill track way before that. Draco had not attended his final year at Hogwarts in lieu of his Death Eater duties and had instead opted to study at home whenever he had the time. He had visited the school a handful of times during that year to speak with one of his old professors regarding the subjects (McGonagall's reaction the first time had been particularly comic) or to borrow a book from the library. He also popped by his old common room to meet Crabbe and Goyle and somehow always ended up in an argument with them; Draco had felt that Hogwarts had become a fucking nightmare, while they insisted it was the glorious utopia that finally granted Purebloods respect that they deserved.

After the war had ended, the Wizengamot had sentenced Crabbe to two years in Azkaban for his role in Goyle's death and his tenure as the Carrows' star pupil during the final year at Hogwarts, which the fat idiot had spent gleefully torturing every Gryffindor in sight.

Draco had met him at a party a few months after his release, where the two of them had ended up fighting a rather violent duel. Crabbe had had no qualms about casting the Unforgiveables; he was bitter about ending up in prison and Draco accused him of siding with the enemy and of being the 'actual blood traitor'. That had been the final nail in the coffin of their friendship. Crabbe had left Britain soon after and lived as a bitter recluse in his family's estate somewhere in North France. Good riddance, Draco thought. The fat bastard could go hang himself for all he cared.

"Do you think Lukas is getting involved in something he shouldn't?" His mother asked.

"It's none of our business," he responded.

"If he does end up doing something stupid, it will reflect badly on us. Perhaps you should speak to him."

"I'd rather steer clear of whatever is going on, mother. Besides, it's not my job to keep Lukas in line." His second cousin once removed was the pretentious sort of git who would jump down a cliff, boasting that he could fly with his arms, and splat to his death. "For all we know, they were just having a drink."

She nodded slowly, then reached out for her tea. "I wonder if Edmond knows what sort of crowd his son is mingling with."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. He didn't care enough about Lukas to ponder over the matter much. Besides, his great uncle Edmond was one of the most powerful men in France and had eyes and ears all over the country. Chances were that he knew and that meant that there was probably nothing to be overly concern–

It happened out of the blue, bringing his thoughts to an abrupt halt: A searing pain burned through his left forearm and he stiffened instantly. A feeling of dread pooled in his stomach, followed with an indescribable urge to apparate to a location he did not know but knew he would reach.

Something must have shown on his face, for his mother eyed him with concern. "What is it?" she asked.

He blew out a breath when the pain abated. "Nothing," he forced a smile and reached for his dropped fork. "Bit my tongue."

Narcissa looked unconvinced but she didn't say anything, for which he was glad. He did not wish to lie to his mother more than he had to.

This was the second time in the last three days that his Dark Mark had burnt, and he could not, for the life of him, understand why this was happening. As far as he knew, the Dark Lord was the only one who could summon his Death Eaters in this manner, and he was dead. Unless… _No_. No. He was dead. Potter made sure of it. There was absolutely _no_ way that Voldemort could be alive.

Then why was his Dark Mark burning?

He couldn't talk to anyone about it, which was perhaps one of the worst parts of his situation. Blaise wouldn't know anything about it. His father was in Azkaban so speaking to him about this sensitive matter amid all that security would be nearly impossible. His mother would just worry, and it was the last thing he wanted. Potter already suspected him; even the slightest indication that something was up with his Dark Mark would have the Aurors back on his case. And Ginevra… no, he couldn't tell her either. Her trust in him was only recent, and she might just start believing that he was lying.

Perhaps the best thing to do was to simply ignore it. He had decided long before that he had no interest in either being a hero or a villain, so it would be best if he just minded his own business. Whatever this was, would pass.

Hopefully.

 **xx**

Draco breathed out a sigh of relief when he entered Gringotts; Diagon Alley was not much crowded that morning but the people there openly stared at him, as if they expected him to somehow summon Potter there and resume their duel. Vultures.

The goblin who led him to the cart was a disgruntled little creature who clearly didn't give a damn about him. Draco liked him instantly. What he did not like was the other passenger who would be accompanying him on his journey to his vault: a certain know-it-all bookworm. In all fairness, Granger didn't seem too ecstatic to be sharing the ride with him.

They reached her vault first, which made sense since the Malfoy vaults were much deeper and much more protected. After the loss of their guard dragon, the Gringotts management had doubled the enchantments in the building and built so many traps that a couple of forgetful goblins had actually gotten themselves severely injured. Of course, over time everyone became accustomed to the new security measures.

Draco's own visit to his vault didn't take much long. He had had the brilliant idea to bring a small vial of the shrinking solution he had brewed, and a few drops later he was carrying a couple of thousand Galleons in his pocket with relative ease. He paused thoughtfully on his way out, then got himself an extra couple of hundredn gold coins. He had yet to buy a gift for Daphne's birthday, which Blaise had been so kind to remind him:

 _Drake,  
Daphne's birthday dinner is day after tomorrow and your pretentious arse better be in attending. Her sister will be coming, and you are NOT abandoning me with her. I will come and drag you to the damn restaurant by the balls if I have to.  
Friday. La Nuit. Half-past-six. Sharp.  
– Blaise Zabini_

He smirked to himself. Daphne's younger sister, Astoria Greengraas, was a quirky girl who just did _not_ get along with Blaise. At all. One would think that the fact that Blaise and Daphne had been married for over a year now would have lessened the snarky arguments and the glares, but apparently love could not solve all family drama. It was a worrying thought.

As the cart started on its way back up, Draco noticed that Granger was staring at him. He tried to ignore it for the longest time, but it just reminded him of all the people out on the street. He was annoyed. By Salazar's blood, was it too hard to mind one's own business? "Didn't your mummy and daddy teach you not to stare, Granger?" he asked icily. "Though I should hardly be surprised at your lack of etiquette, considering where you come from and what sort of company you keep."

Her cheeks turned red with what he hoped was embarrassment but was really angry. "I don't get what Ginny sees in you. You're just as horrible as you used to be."

"Perhaps." He said carelessly.

"You won't even deny it!" she scoffed with a hint of incredulity. "The things you've done, Malfoy. Even worse, the things – the _right_ things – that you didn't do. You haven't apologised for any of it."

"Nor will I," Draco told her flatly. But her words had triggered a memory of that horrible day. Of her blood and screams, and of the numbness he had forced upon himself. "For what it's worth, I haven't used or thought of _that_ word since the day I watched my aunt carve it into your skin." The words came unbidden to his lips, and he made no attempt to keep them at bay.

A flicker of surprise flashed across her face but then it passed, only to be replaced with weariness. No, that was not it. She looked _haunted,_ as if just the remembrance alone weighed down upon her soul. It was a feeling he understood all too well. Who would've thought that a day would come when he would find himself being able to relate to Hermione Bloody Granger, of all people?

The cart came to a halt at the main floor of the bank with a rather annoying screech. The goblin hopped off, thanked them for visiting and then scurried away, clearly very glad to be rid of his duty. Lazy wanker.

Draco got off next and, for reasons that will be beyond him till the day he dies, held out his hand to help Granger. It was some relief that she seemed just as surprised at the gesture, and she accepted his help.

He expected her to thank him, as proper manners demanded, but instead she spoke of something else entirely. "Ron and I are getting married this Saturday." That was not news to him; Ginevra had mentioned the preparations a few times, and his PA had gushed quite a bit after reading a feature about the upcoming nuptials in _Witch Weekly._ "You should come to the wedding."

"Pardon?" He must have heard it wrong.

The corners of Granger's lips curved with amusement. "I said that you should come to the wedding," she repeated slowly, as if to ensure that he would comprehend the words correctly this time. "It would mean the world to Ginny."

If someone wanted to describe his reaction in that moment, the word 'dumbfounded' would probably serve both as an accurate description and a gross understatement. Hermione Granger was inviting _him_ , Draco Malfoy, to her wedding. Sweet Merlin's buttocks! The world was indeed turning upside down. "I… um, I thank you for the invite." He paused to clear his throat awkwardly, then continued in what he hoped was a much more composed tone. "But I'm afraid I must decline. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be there."

"As you wish." She did not try to convince him to change his mind, which was something he was almost grateful for. "The invitation is there, in case you change your mind."

He nodded politely and walked away, utterly bewildered. As he walked out of Gringotts, Draco could not help but pinch himself in the arm to ensure that he was not stuck in some bizarre dream. He wasn't. It was all real.

Which was even more bizarre.

 **xx**

Friday night was chilly but not uncomfortably so, which was a blessing considering that it was the first week of December. Still, good weather meant that the dinner on an open balcony of La Nuit would be a pleasant affair.

Draco straightened the jacket of one of his best navy suits as he walked into the lift. It was going to be a gathering of Slytherins, dressing in anything but the best would simply not do, not that he was ever dressed badly. His sense of style was one of the things he was most proud of.

His impeccable dress sense could not have kept him for halting in surprise when he entered the balcony. The furniture had been rearranged to form two long tables, and the longer one was occupied by the Weasley gang. He spotted Ginevra instantly. She had noticed him too, as had the rest of her family: Her parents, Bill, Fleur and their daughter, the brother who worked with dragons (what was his name, again?), the remaining twin, Angelina Johnson-Weasley and their son, Weaselbee and Granger, and Saint Potter, of course. Great. Just what he wanted, a night in their presence.

Actually, now that he thought about it, why were they here in the first place?

"Draco!" Daphne Greengrass exclaimed happily as she walked over to greet him.

Draco turned his attention on his old schoolmate with a smile, appreciating how appealing she looked in that sequined dress of hers. "Happy birthday, Daphne." He kissed her cheek and handed her a small gift-wrapped box.

"Thank you, love," she smiled, then gestured towards the other table. "Why don't you go take a seat? I have to see where Astoria has gone off to."

"Maybe she drowned in the toilet," Blaise suggested as he came up to join them.

Daphne was blessed with a knack of arguing well, which had earned her a place at the International Office of Law at the Ministry, but instead of using said skill against her husband, she resorted to shooting him a glare that would have had most men cowering. "Put some sense into him while I'm gone," she requested to Draco, then sauntered into the building.

Draco clapped his best friend on the shoulder, which was their way of greeting each other, and said, "It's your wife's birthday. Be nice to her sister for once."

"I'd rather go and snog Weaselbee over there," Blaise grumbled. "Speaking of, Daph had hoped to have the whole place booked only for us, but I suppose the management didn't want to say no to Potter."

Wasn't that the tragedy of this world, Draco wondered sourly, that people just wouldn't say no to that spectacled git. He eyed the Weasley table and then Daphne's – which was smaller because she'd invited half the number of guests – and realised with a jolt that there were no other people present in the restaurant. Which made sense, since there was no more room on the balcony to accommodate any other guests. He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or bad.

Still, there was nothing that could be done about that and it wasn't as if he was afraid or even uncomfortable to be in the presence of the Weasley gang. Fuck them, he was going to enjoy a nice dinner with his friends; Montague, Vaisay and Tracey Davis were already seated at the table, heads joined in conversation that he wanted to be a part of as well.

By unspoken consent, he and Blaise started towards their table, but then for whatever reason, his eyes flickered over to Ginevra, only to realise that not only was she looking at him but that she had also stood up, as if to greet him.

A small detour then.

"Hi," Ginevra said softly when he reached her. She leaned forward as if she was about to kiss him, then hesitated as she realised that they were under the scrutiny of her entire bloody family and then finally opted to hug him.

"Hi," Draco murmured. He found himself relishing the closeness between them; he hadn't had a chance to see her since the day of his so-called arrest, which was less of an arrest and more of Potter's rude desire to question him on things that were not at all important. Or real, for that matter. "What are you doing here?"

"A family dinner before Ron's wedding," she told him as she pulled away, her hands coming to rest on the lapels of his jacket. "You look dapper."

"Don't I always?" he asked cheekily, then gestured towards his best friend, who had decided to obnoxiously stand by him rather than continue on his way to the table. "You remember Blaise Zabini?"

"Vividly."

Blaise nodded at her politely. "Miss Weasley."

"I didn't know you were married," Ginevra said, indicating that sound travelled easily between the two tables. This was going to be one interesting evening.

"It's a long story."

"Not really," Draco piped in. "I think 'drunken elopement' sums it up quite nicely."

"Thanks, mate," the dark-skinned man muttered, then turned to Ginevra. "He doesn't approve."

"Why?" Ginevra asked with a frown. "What's wrong with eloping?"

Draco stifled his laughter at the instant reaction that met her words. Her family had stiffened, their expressions filled with dread as if they expected her to disapparate with him any moment and then return a few days later with a wedding ring on her finger and the Malfoy crest branded onto her skin.

"Drake is a _traditionalist_ ," Blaise spat the last word, as if he found it to be derogatory. Slimy git. He had been that himself until only a few years ago. "You ought to know that by now."

"Of course! Silly me," Ginevra seemed very amused. "How could I have forgotten that about _Drake?"_

"It's Draco." Draco corrected with an icy look that promised retribution should she repeat this gruesome sin. "Just because Zabini insists on molesting my name doesn't mean you are allowed the same liberty."

Whatever the redhead's response was going to be was drowned by a couple of odd things happening simultaneously. Behind them, Tracey Davis let out a loud squeal of joy, as if she had found out that she would be appointed queen of the world. And next to them, Blaise swore under his breath.

"Shit," Blaise said. "Daph sent the invites. I-I didn't know, Draco."

Bewildered, he turned around. "What are you…" The question died in his throat, for the answer to it was before him.

Pansy Parkinson – he supposed it was Pansy Parkinson-Weiss now, or just Pansy Weiss – was standing less than twenty feet from him, happily greeting the others. Of all the possible turns this evening could have taken, this was clearly the one he had expected the least.

He hadn't seen her since that horrid fight nearly five years ago. He hadn't heard much about her either; the few friends he socialised with at the time had had the good sense to not bring her up in their conversations. He'd seen her wedding invitation at Blaise's house some eight months after they had broken up and well, that had been it.

"Draco," Ginevra murmured.

"Your family is waiting for you," he said to her almost mechanically. "You should return to them."

"Draco," she repeated, and he felt her fingers wrap around his arm.

He looked at her then, noticed how her eyes were filled with apprehension. "We will talk later," he promised, then left her to go over to the table that he was actually expected at.

Greetings were as interesting as any conversation with a bunch of Slytherins could be, which was a lot. Draco and Pansy very casually ignored each other entirely, but both simultaneously glared at Montague when he, being the twat that he was, very loudly bet ten Galleons that the two exes would be shagging each other by the end of the night.

"What?" Montague asked with a shrug, clearly not intimidated by the icy stares sent his way. "That's how you two have always been, shouting one moment and snogging the next. I'm sure we'll find the two of you going at it in some corner soon."

Draco found himself wondering how offended Daphne would be if he broke this arsehole's jaw. Mercifully, he was interrupted by the re-entry of the birthday girl and her sister, who had clearly not drowned in the toilet. Blaise's rather audible groan was a good distraction and conversation moved onto other more amusing banters.

It was after they had all finished the main entrée and were waiting for dessert – which would take some time because Daphne had declared that there would be no birthday cake (apparently it was too common a practice) and had ended up ordering something overly exotic from the menu – that his eyes wandered to Pansy once again.

Unlike Ginevra, who was garbed in a mustard jumper and plain blue jeans, Pansy wore a silk dress that hugged her curves and bared her shoulders – the chilly weather had never kept her from looking her best, and that clearly hadn't changed. Her chestnut hair was tied into an elegant bun and those beautiful, luscious lips were painted in the colour of blood. By Merlin's magic, Pansy was bold in her beauty and unapologetically so.

"I'd hoped Joseph would come too, Pans," Daphne was saying.

"He wanted to very much, but he had was called back to New York," Pansy replied. "That ugly business with the wizard killings in Paris has most governments concerned."

"And Sophia?"

"She's with my dad," Pansy replied with a smiled that softened her features in a way that he hadn't seen before. "She's managed to wrap him around her tiny little finger – a task even I failed at."

"Oh, yeah. I heard that you had a daughter," Vaisay piped in. "Congratulations."

That was when it hit Draco: Pansy was here, before him. Pansy Parkinson, his childhood friend, his first kiss, his first… other things. But most importantly, his first love. Merlin, they had a history that would forever bind them together. It was unexpected, perhaps even more so than her presence itself, how his mind had become a whirlwind of emotions upon seeing her. Anger, heartbreak, joy, shame, hatred, love, guilt, nostalgia.

He tried to partake in the conversations going on around him – Vaisay, being the talented photographer he was, had pulled out his camera and was offering to take a few pictures of the girls, who all seemed very excited at the prospect, while Blaise and Montague were engaged in a debate about whether the loss of their star Chaser would cost the Ballycastle Bats the League – but all of a sudden, a haze of countless, confused thoughts had descended over his mind. He felt detached and he longed for more detachment, just for a while, so he left the table silently.

He ended up standing by the edge of the balcony, much closer to the Weasley area than he would have liked but they were paying him no heed, and he was perfectly alright with that. Besides, a sudden gust of chilly wind had filled his lungs with an enormous amount of oxygen and it was a glorious feeling. His thoughts, however, returned to Pansy. For a long time, she had been the most important woman in his life, then things had gone awfully wrong. And here she was now, not only as someone else's wife but a mother to a little girl. It was all so odd.

A minute or two of silent contemplation passed, then a feminine hand came to rest on the railing, right next to his. There was a small tattoo of a pink peony by the wrist, which he recognised instantly and turned his head in surprise to ensure that he was indeed right. Which he was.

"Don't think this is about you," Pansy told him. "I've only come over so that Montague thinks that he is right about us and raises the stakes of his stupid bet. It will be much more fun crushing him, don't you think?"

Her words almost made him smirk. It was good to see that she was still the cunning bitch that he had grown fond of. But she was not just that anymore. "You have a daughter," he said in wonder. In another world, in another lifetime, that daughter would have been his. It had been their plan to end up together once upon a time, before darkness had descended upon their lives.

"I do."

"What's that like?"

"Sophia is my heart's joy." Her hazel eyes turned warm and happy as a doting mother's often did. "But she also wakes up in the middle of the night and expects to be entertained. It's a rather conflicting feeling, parenthood. You'll see."

"Oh, I have no intention of producing any Malfoy heirs for at least another decade," he assured her. "Maybe two."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Lucius will be disappointed."

"Yes, well," he muttered dryly. "What else is new?"

Her lips curved into a small smile, and Draco realised that his own expression mirrored hers inadvertently. Their gazes remained locked with each other for a few moments that seemed to last a lifetime, until he noticed a little sparkle from the corner of his eye. She was playing with the wedding band on her finger.

"Did you know, Blaise wanted me to gate-crash your wedding and try to steal you away," he told her. Merlin. He needed to stop talking. There was no point in bringing this up. Besides, the Weasleys were sitting nearby; who knew how much Ginevra could hear? "He's always full of horrible ideas."

The smile slipped away from Pansy's face, and a cloud descended over both of them, bringing back a harsh reminder of what they had once been and of all the things that had gone wrong. "Did you know," she began slowly. "On the morning of my wedding, I sat in the bridal room, all dressed up, and waited for you to show up like the dramatic bastard that you are."

"If I had, would you have come away with me?"

"In a heartbeat."

The world seemed to still at that. He blew out a shaky breath, trying to grasp all the now-dead possibilities that lay behind the three words that he had just heard. They could have spent the rest of their lives together, living in luxury, acting like the spoiled geniuses they both were. They could have had a family.

"I am eternally grateful to you, Draco," Pansy murmured.

"For what?" he asked.

"For _not_ showing up at my wedding." Pansy said. "Because no matter how unsure I may have been back then, I know now that I belong with Joseph. He's the love of my life, and he is twice the man that you will ever be."

His heart began to ache; she did always know how to hit him where it hurt. But he realised with a jolt that his heart was not aching for that old love. Even though he cherished those memories and hated them at the same time, he was certain that it was not Pansy's love that he craved – it was her friendship. A connection that had been there since they were toddlers and had been broken by him in the most ruthless of ways.

The last fight they had had at Pansy's townhouse had been an ugly affair. He could recall every word of it, clear as day, and he wished that he had kept his cool back then. There were better ways to end a relationship, for that was what he had intended to do from the beginning; he had been in no condition to be anyone's boyfriend at the time and she just wouldn't leave him be. But perhaps, he could have let her down without shattering her entirely.

"That day," he began slowly, knowing full well that she would understand what he was talking about. "I–"

"I know," she cut in, her voice almost understanding. "But I cannot forgive you, Draco. I just can't."

He supposed that was fair. Forgiveness was something that Slytherins never gave anyone lightly. It was better to withhold their mercy than to give it to someone who did not deserve it. He knew that his own behaviour that day had been wrong, _too_ wrong, so he could not fault her for not being able to move past it. He could make his peace with it. In fact, sometimes it felt like he already had.

"I'm glad you're happy," he told her, and he meant it. No matter what had happened between them, he would always wish her well.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, then placed her hand on his arm.

It was as close as they could get to being friends. The close bond that had existed between them once, romance or no, was gone. And now that the haze of the heartache was fading away slowly, he realised that he was alright with it. Not being friends was something he could cope with – he had already lost so many things in his life, what harm could another loss do to him? – but it was a relief to know that he was not hated by Pansy. Not loved, not liked, not forgiven, but at least not hated.

And then, out of the fucking blue, a searing pain lanced through his Dark Mark. Caught off-guard, his arm twitched jerked unceremoniously.

Pansy removed her hand, startled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," He mumbled quickly, resisting the urge to rub at his forearm.

"It's not nothing."

"Leave me alone, Pansy," he growled and walked away from her, his heart thudding in his chest with a fear that he would do anything to be rid of. This was the third time in the last ten days that his Mark had hurt. What the fuck was going on?

He had only taken a few steps when a hand grabbed him by the arm and turned him around. "This is why we would have never worked out, Draco," Pansy raged. "You have too many secrets."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

His answer only seemed to make her more furious, and she nodded viciously towards Ginevra. "That ginger bitch may be fooled by your lies, but I am not," she told him. "Tell me."

"Why should I?" he shot back. He genuinely did not understand why she was concerned. And she was making things worse by planting suspicion in Ginevra's – and possibly everyone else's – minds. Besides, he was too shaken up by what was happening that he did not have the time or the patience to deal with this unnecessary drama. "In case you haven't noticed, you are not important enough to be privy to what goes on in my life." He wrenched his arm out of her grasp. "Learn to mind your own fucking business, Pansy."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed back to his own table, where everyone had no doubt witnessed the argument that had just taken place. Just bloody great. No one said anything about it though, which was a testament to the fact that they were all not entirely half-witted. With forced casualness, he started up a conversation about the nightclub that their mutual friend, Theodore Nott, was planning on opening. And when Pansy returned to her seat a few seconds later, she too feigned ignorance about anything remotely tense that might have occurred, and everyone just went along with it.

It seemed to Draco that he and Pansy were back to ignoring each other, and pissed off as he was at her, he was completely alright with it.

He had forgotten how much of a nosy bitch Pansy had been, and how she had never been able to understand his desire for solitude and space. She had idolised this concept of perfect communication between couples, and just refused to understand that Draco was not willing to talk about many things. He might have in his own time, but she wasn't willing to wait and see. Earlier, all remembered all the passion and laughter he had once shared with her, but now he could only think of the fighting and the shouting. Merlin. Had the two of them ended up together, either they would have been very happy or one of them would most certainly have smothered the other with a pillow.

But there was no point in thinking about any of this anymore. In fact, he had no desire to do so. He was just done with that chapter of his life, which is why he pushed Pansy out of his mind and did the one thing that any wise person would do: focus on dessert.

 **xx**

Somehow, Draco ended up in Blaise's study after dinner, where his arsehole of a best friend had tried to gauge his emotions about the whole Pansy thing using not-so-subtle hints, and Draco had teased him about the bizarre 'in-laws' dynamics he had with Astoria using very-much-forward taunts. The two of them had then decided to let their problems rot in hell and instead engaged in a game or two – or maybe four – of wizard's chess until Daphne barged in and very politely kicked him out. It was still her birthday, she had said, and that meant that there was still some time to participate in some naughty, maybe partly illicit activities with her husband.

And so, Draco had apparated outside the Manor.

His evening, the entire week actually, had been a bit of a roller coaster. There was much that needed mulling over, but it could wait. He wished Ginevra would visit, though he was pretty certain that it was unlikely. She was going to be busy with her family until Weaselbee's wedding was done. Oh, well, there would be other nights for them to divulge in some activities of their own. This present night, he could spend in bed, reading. He had recently bought an autobiography of a German witch who had spent thirteen years in an underwater cave.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the hooded man that stepped out from behind the trees and shoot a curse at him.

 _Almost._

Instincts kicked into action rather quickly, though, and Draco found his fingers wrapping around his wand and his mind already directing the magic in his veins to cast a shield charm. The fiery orange light that he instantly recognised as the blasting curse bounded off his shield and hit one of the trees, whose branches exploded, sending chunks of wood flying in every direction.

The curse ended as quickly as it had started, though the hooded man made no move to attack again.

Draco ended the shield charm silently – he was rather good at non-verbal magic – but kept his wand firmly pointed at the stranger, ready to attack or defend should the need arise.

"Now, now, Malfoy," the stranger said as he slowly pulled back his hood to reveal a pale, twisted face. "Is this any way to greet an old friend?"

Draco froze. He hadn't seen this man in over six years, but there was no denying his identity. There, ten feet from him, stood Antonin Dolohov.

 **xx**

For Draco Malfoy, this was turning out to be one of those weeks, where every confrontation that he absolutely did not want to happen, happened.

Family drama, old nemesis from school and ex-girlfriend he could handle – though just barely – but Antonin Dolohov was another matter entirely.

Who knew why the man was here, and what he wanted. Whatever the reason, Draco was willing to bet his entire fortune that it was not going to be good. And the chances of him making out of his confrontation unscathed appeared quite slim as well.

Fuck.

* * *

 **Da-da-dum!**

 **This chapter was interesting to write. I wanted to keep the Draco/Ginny to a minimum for a change (don't worry, our favourite couple will be back in full swing soon!) and just focus on his interactions with other people. I edited this chapter so, so much and I'm still not 100% satisfied with it (a writer never is, or so I'm told) but I do hope that you all enjoyed reading it.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know!**

 **Until the next time,  
Cheers! x**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, my readers!**

 **I am so, _so_ sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Over the past couple of months, there were some personal things that I had to deal with and this story had to take a backseat. ****In any case, I'm all better now and I'm back with this super long chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.**

 **Oh and thank you to all the reviewers for your kind words. This one is for all of you!**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 12**

* * *

It was rather alarming, Draco Malfoy mused, how visceral and jarring his reaction was every time the thought of her eyes crossed his mind.

It was as if she was haunting him, and he did not know how to escape her.

 **xx**

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, making no move to lower his wand.

"What, no hello?" Antonin Dolohov did not seem at all intimidated. He tilted his head to the side, his thin lips curved into a smile that made his pale, twisted face even more terrifying. A few moments of silence passed and then he shrugged indifferently, as if he knew that he would be getting no reaction from him unless he talked. "Well, you weren't coming when I called. How else was I supposed to get in touch with you?"

Called? What was he talking abo– Before the question in his head was even finished, Draco had already figured out the answer to it. And it was not a comforting answer at all. The Dark Mark burning was a summon, as it always had been, but it was Dolohov doing the summoning. "How?" he asked, unable to keep the bewilderment out of his voice. "Only the Dark Lord could use the Mark."

"The Dark Lord created the Mark as a tool for communication. But spells can be tweaked to allow others to use the Mark for that same purpose. It took me years, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it now." The air of smug victory faded as Dolohov eyed him dangerously. "Dare I ask why you didn't answer the call?"

"Why should I have? For all I know, it could have been a trap."

"I always knew you were smarter than you let on, Malfoy."

The compliment did nothing to soothe Draco's nerves. It was a very dangerous situation he was in, and he knew that the only way he was going to make it out alive was if he chose his every move carefully. The first move, then, was to lower his wand; he did not want to do it, but it was the only way to find out Dolohov's motive. If the man had wanted to kill him, then he would have already attacked by now. The fact that he hadn't indicated that he wanted something else, and Draco wanted to make it seem like he was listening. "What do you want?"

"What I've always wanted: Justice, order, balance."

"Oh, is that it?"

"I want us Purebloods to get the respect that we deserve. I want those filthy Mudbloods eradicated. I want the Muggles to bow before us as they should."

The answer was more or less what he had expected, and yet, hearing it out loud filled Draco with both wariness and weariness. "The war is over."

"The war isn't over until I say it is," Dolohov growled. "We're going to turn the Dark Lord's dream into reality."

"What good will that do? The Dark Lord is gone."

Dolohov took a step towards him, then another, his gaze filled with a suspicion that did not bode well. "Don't tell me you've switched sides, Malfoy."

"The side I was on is gone. Now, I'm only in it for myself."

That made Dolohov smile; Selfishness, after all, was a trait that all Death Eaters respected. "And is this the life you want? The Malfoy name in gutter, your father rotting away in prison, your mother disappeared from the frontlines of the society where she truly belongs. And you – _hell_ , the only reason people are willing to give you a chance is because you're shagging that Weasley bitch!" he shuddered. "How low you've had to fall, Malfoy, just to feel accepted."

Draco pressed his lips together. He did not like the way the man was talking about Ginevra. He also did not like how some of his words seemed to hit a nerve. Sure, Draco understood now that the Dark Lord's path had been one of hate and insanity, but he would be lying if he said that he did not miss the time when he and his family had been trusted, revered even, in the wizarding society. His parents had been prominent figures, with power and a voice that people actually listened to. And now… Now, they were all in the shadows, desperately trying to outrun the suspicion that followed them everywhere.

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Dolohov went on. "That will all change."

"And I suppose you will be the one to make it happen?" he demanded.

" _We_ will."

"So, you're here to recruit me?"

"I didn't think there was a need to recruit you. You are one of us." Dolohov waited for a response, but when none came, he continued with what was clearly forced patience. "I know you are following your daddy's footsteps by blending in and biding your time. Understandable – there was no need to risk your neck when we had so obviously lost. But now it's starting all over again. You must do your duty, Draco. Your cause needs you."

To somehow be a part of yet another conflict was the last thing Draco wanted; he hadn't even gotten over the trauma of the last one he got entangled in. "Dolohov," he said in a voice that was filled with bewilderment, and he made sure to keep his expression contemplative, as if he was mulling over what he had just discovered – as if he had decisions to ponder. It was the only way to get out of this conversation for the night without having to pledge himself to the cause. "This is a lot to take in."

Dolohov eyed him for a long moment, his expression so well masked that he would have needed a bunch of diagrams and a dictionary of indecipherable runes to read it properly. "Alright," he said finally and took a step back. "Take some time to think. But remember, Malfoy, you are either with us or against us. Choose wisely."

 **xx**

It was a restless sort of night.

Out of nowhere, the sky had decided to break loose and allow a roaring blizzard to sweep over the countryside. The strongest of the trees quivered in the merciless winds and dense snowflakes rained down, covering everything the eye could see in a sheet of white.

Inside the warm Malfoy Manor, sleep eluded Draco. He tried lying in bed for the longest time, but after a while the walls of his bedroom seemed to close down upon him. So, he paced up and down the hallways of the Manor impatiently, thinking of ways to silence the multitude of thoughts roaring inside his head.

The thought of another war brewing alone chilled him to the bone. He was not at all interested in working with the darker forces to bring back the Dark Lord's rhetoric. Telling Dolohov that was out of the question, though. The man had been notorious during the war, and Draco had been a part of enough Death Eater missions to know that he had earned his reputation.

Truth was, he genuinely did not care who was in control of the Ministry. His own interests now lay in expanding his business, and as long as he did that within the legal frameworks of the government, no one could bother him. Besides, Potter, Death Eaters – they didn't matter. Draco was done being a soldier.

Sometime in the late hours of the night – or was it the early hours of the morning? – he found himself seated at his desk in his study with a decanter of firewhiskey. And as he downed the contents of what was his seventh or eighth glass, he conceded that by buying some time from Dolohov, he had managed to stall absolutely _nothing_.

Everyone who knew Draco (which unfortunately included the ex-Death Eaters) knew that there was no way in hell that he would ever abandon his family's Manor and business. His father was in Azkaban, and it would not be difficult to find the address of the Tuscan villa that his mother was living in. The Malfoys were not a hard bunch to track, and Dolohov knew that. If the Death Eater did not get the answer he desired, he would most certainly pressure or punish Draco. Which meant that he and his family were in danger. Again.

Shit.

" _Hurry up, Draco," his aunt Bellatrix whispered, her voice brimming with barely concealed excitement as she practically pranced towards a simple cottage in the village of Braythorn, trampling the neatly planted carrots under her leather boots._

 _It was a straightforward mission: an Auror named Jacob Hornsby had been causing trouble for the Death Eaters by relaying confidential Ministry information to the Order. He needed to be taught a lesson. The fact that Hornsby was himself a muggle-born wizard and had married a muggle did not help his case either._ _Though Hornsby had hid his family months ago, Dolohov, being the cunning bastard that he was, had managed to find out the location. The Dark Lord had ordered Draco, Dolohov and Bellatrix to go and wreak some havoc._

 _By the time Draco entered the little cottage, Dolohov had already cast the Cruciatus Curse on Hornsby's wife, a pretty woman with dark hair, who was writhing on the floor. Her pitiful screams were almost enough to take his attention away from the corpse of an older man that lay not far from her. It seemed that Hornsby's parents had picked the wrong day to visit their son's family._

 _From the corner of his eye, he noticed Hornsby's mother run up the stairs. Bellatrix followed her with great enthusiasm. She did always love it when they ran._

" _Search the house," Dolohov commanded._

 _Draco obeyed wordlessly, eager to get away from the cries echoing around the room. He cast the human revealing spell in the kitchen, and upon finding nothing, went upstairs where his aunt was clearly having the time of her life drowning the old woman in the bathtub. Shoving down his repulsion, he wandered into what appeared to be the master bedroom, where he didn't even need a spell to know that someone was hiding in the wardrobe._

 _Hornsby had allowed his parents and wife to suffer while he hid away. That fucking coward._

 _Draco inched towards the closet slowly and flung open the door, his want at the ready. It wasn't the Auror he found inside, but a girl no older than five or six years. She retreated back into the corner, her big brown eyes fixed up on him in fear._

 _Hornsby had a daughter._

 _That complicated things. Draco knew for certain that both his aunt and Dolohov would have no hesitation whatsoever in killing the probably magic-less child of a mudblood blood-traiter, but he did not think his personal moral compass would allow such a thing._

 _It took him less than a couple of seconds to make up his mind and he took a step forward. The child shrunk from him, and he raised his hands, palm open, both to stop her from running away, should she try that, and to assure her that he had no intention to hurt her. "Stay here," he whispered urgently. "Don't make a sound."_

 _Without waiting for her response, he picked up a bunch of heavy fur coats hanging in the closet and dropped them onto her little form. Then, just to be sure, he cast a concealment charm on the pile of fur, hiding the ugly winterwear and the girl beneath it from view entirely. It wasn't ideal, but it was all he could do on such short notice. He shut the door of the closet quickly and marched out of the room, only to find Dolohov walking towards him._

" _Did you find Hornsby?"_

" _No." Draco lied smoothly. It had always been easy for him to retreat behind an emotionless mask. "What about his wife?"_

" _Dead." Dolohov peeked into the master bedroom._

" _I looked in there already. It's all clear."_

 _The older Death Eater hummed in a disinterested way and then wandered into the bedroom._

 _Draco's heart sank. He waited in the hallway, and sure enough, he heard the little girl let out a squeal. He marched inside to find the child cowering on the floor._

" _You said you searched this room," Dolohov said casually._

" _I did," Draco lied once again. "There was no one here."_

" _You need to look harder, Malfoy. These filthy buggers will hide just about anywhere."_

" _I'll keep that in mind."_

" _Good." Dolohov pointed his wand at the little girl. "Crucio."_

 _She toppled to the ground, her body twisting in most unnatural ways and her shrill screams nearly piercing the air._

 _Draco flinched, for once relieved that his face was hidden behind his Death Eater mask. He wanted to stop the torture, he truly did, but he knew deep in his heart that it was not in his power to do so. If he interfered, Dolohov would not only make it worse for the girl but also tell the Dark Lord, which would only end in pain for him and his family. No, he could not stop it. And yet–_

" _Stop!" he found himself saying. It was a stupid move, really; his heroics were going to get him killed... Unless he came up with something smart. "W-We should go before my aunt sets the house on fire." Which would be very, very soon if past missions were anything to go by._

 _It worked._

 _Dolohov ended the spell, as if he had just remembered Bellatrix's infamous ways. "You're right. Let's go," he turned to leave, then pointed his wand once again at the wide-eyed little girl in afterthought. "Aveda Kedavra."_

 _A jet of bright green light filled the room and–_

"NO!"

Draco jerked awake with a loud cry, his body quivering and his head pounding rather painfully. His cheeks felt wet, but he could not tell if it was sweat or tears.

It was probably late morning, judging by the light streaming in through the windows; it was a miracle that he had not woken up sooner, but then again, that nightmare had gripped him pretty tight in its talons.

Will those damned memories ever leave him alone? He knew he had been a part of some terrible things, but had he not been punished enough? Merlin knew he had paid his dues time and again, and yet his past continued to haunt him.

That girl. Salazar, that poor little innocent girl.

It was times like these when Draco found himself wondering if it would be better if he just ended it all. He was utterly exhausted of trying to make the best of the shit that his life kept on throwing his way. If he just found the courage to kill himself – he knew how to brew plenty of poisons, some that could kill painlessly – it would all be over in a jiffy. He would be in a better place; not in heaven or hell, mind, he didn't believe in those, but he would definitely be at rest.

And yet, as tempting as the thought was, he could not bring himself to go through with it. It felt like the coward's way out, and had he not spent too many years being a coward already? Besides, if he was honest with himself, he did _not_ want to die. It was his demons that he wanted rid of, not his life. He just wanted to move on from the scars that the Dark Lord had carved into him. He just wanted to be free.

But that seemed unlikely.

He could still see the bright green light and that little girl's body collapsing on the floor of that bedroom. Still. Silent. Dead.

The bile rose up his throat and Draco vomited on the beautiful handwoven Persian rug in his study room, where he had fallen asleep. The sudden movement only seemed to make his headache worse, which somehow made him throw up even more. It was as if he was caught in this horrible cycle – and all the while, that child's lifeless eyes were somehow etched in his vision.

No. _Please_ , no.

Her eyes. Her big, beautiful, lifeless eyes.

Merlin. He needed to get away.

 **xx**

This had to be the stupidest decision he had ever made, Draco mused. Well, perhaps not the stupidest (he and Blaise had, after all, gotten involved in the incident-that-shall-never-be-named when they had visited Prague to attend the opening of Daphne's cousin's nightclub a few years back), but willingly attending the wedding of Ron Weaselbee and Hermione know-it-all Granger had to be in the top three of that list.

The sky was partially clouded, allowing the sun to brighten the day every now and then, but the air was freezing cold. The snow in the grounds outside the Burrow had been partially cleared away to make room for the huge marquee, and he could hear the pleasant sound of music and chatter inside. It was late afternoon, which meant that the wedding ceremony was finished, and the reception party was going on.

No one would be ecstatic to see him. Ginevra had talked about the wedding preparations often, but not once had she asked him to come, so he wasn't sure if she wanted him there. Granger had invited him, though, and she had said that the invitation was still there even when he had declined… Besides, he had already dressed up in his fine formal robes and came all the way here; it was too late – and too cowardly – to turn back. So, he squared his shoulders and made his way to the entrance.

The first thing that hit him was warmth – comfortable, non-freezing warmth. Thank Merlin. The next thing he noticed was the scent of the flowers; the entire place was decorated with white and pink roses. About twenty round tables were set up around a large dance floor, upon which numerous couples were swaying merrily to the tunes that the band was playing. It wasn't a grand reception, but he could admit that the aesthetics were not entirely unpleasing to the eye.

He didn't have any more time for observations, though, because only a few feet inside of the tent stood the newly married couple itself.

They stilled when they saw him, but Granger was quick to compose her features into a polite smile. "Malfoy!" Her welcoming tone surprised him, but only for a moment. It was the joy of a bride; she probably would have embraced Voldemort had he shown up at her doorstep. It was ridiculous, really, how people seemed to forget all enmities on their wedding day. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Yes, well." Draco said. "Congratulations on your nuptials."

"Thanks, _mate,"_ Weaselbee said in an overly polite and overly sarcastic tone. "You shouldn't have bothered coming."

It would be considered rude to punch the groom on his wedding day, wouldn't it? "I was invited."

"I know." Weaselbee seemed very much annoyed but not surprised; his fiancée – now wife – must have told him of their bizarre Gringotts meeting.

"Thank you for coming," Granger said as she needlessly straightened the humungous skirts of her white dress. She did look adequately attractive, he noted, then quickly decided that copious amounts of make-up and hair products must have been required to make her appear so. "Please, do enj–"

"Ginny and 'Mione may be willing to give you a chance, but you're not fooling me with your good-bloke act, Malfoy," Weaselbee cut in, and his bushy-haired wife rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "You being here changes nothing. I know what a pathetic git you are."

"There is no need for provocation," Draco said coolly. There were limits to the amount of Weasley dung he'd endure, after all. "Everyone, including your sister, knows that I am perfectly capable of impertinence and that I shall resort to it of my own volition, should I desire to do so. That I haven't _desired_ so is a testament to my regard for Ginevra."

The ginger idiot went red in the face and was clearly about to retort in a way that would start a quarrel when–

" _Draco_!"

A very familiar feminine voice caused him to turn. Ginevra Weasley was making her way towards him and – _Salazar's sweet blood!_ – she was a sight to behold. Her dress was light blue, with a deep V-shaped neckline that revealed the beautiful pale skin between her breasts. She had styled her hair into waves and kept her makeup subtly soft – winged eyeliner, decent highlighter and a natural coloured lip colour. It was not a well-known fact for logical reasons, but Draco was actually well-schooled in identifying different types of makeup; growing up with Pansy Parkinson for years did that to a person.

"What are you doing here?" Ginevra asked once she reached him.

"Granger invited me," he replied, then glanced briefly at Weaselbee. "And your brother has been most _kind_ with his welcome."

There was some sarcasm imbued in his voice, but Ginevra did not seem to notice it. Instead, she threw herself into his arms. "I'm glad you're here," she murmured in his ear, then pulled away to look at Granger. A conversation seemed to take place between the two women with only a single glance, and then she turned to him once again. "Come."

Sweet Merlin, her dress was backless. It should be illegal for someone as beautiful as her to wear something as tempting as that in public. He certainly wouldn't mind it if she wore that in the bedroom and did some rather naughty things for and to him. As interesting as that line of thought was, he quickly abandoned it. It would not do to fantasize about his girlfriend like that in the middle of her brother's wedding.

By the time he snapped out of his rather inappropriate thoughts, he realised that Ginevra had led him to a nearly empty table – nearly, because there were two very familiar people sitting there.

"Hello, Draco," Luna Lovegood greeted him with the same soft, dreamy voice she had had back at Hogwarts. She had grown into a rather attractive woman over the years, he noted. It was a pity though that she had not outgrown her _eccentric_ fashion sense. Currently, she was wearing a bright orange fluffy dress (that was just _too_ fluffy) with matching vegetable jewellery.

"Luna," He nodded as he took a seat next to Ginevra, then glanced at the fourth person at the table. _There_ was a man who did _not_ look anything like his childhood. Who would have thought that a day would come that Neville Longbottom would not only look fit but also dress in quite decent formal robes? "Longbottom."

"Malfoy." Longbottom raised his glass of firewhiskey. "You're the last person I thought I'd see at Ron and Hermione's wedding."

"If it helps, my presence here is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you."

And that was the only response everyone who wondered about his sudden arrival would be getting. What else was he supposed to do, tell them the truth? That it was his utterly desperate desire for a distraction that had brought him here. He had been going insane pacing restlessly in the Manor, reliving a past that was hell-bent on tormenting him. He had needed an escape and he had no one to go to. His mother was just out of the question; she'd worry too much. And Blaise was away on a weekend getaway with Daphne. This was the only place that had come to his mind.

He had suffered terrible nights before – during the war, and right after it – but it had been a few months since he found himself haunted by such demons. Well, the demons had returned last night and they would not leave him alone.

Hornsby's daughter. She had had the roundest, biggest brown eyes he had ever seen, filled with curiosity and fear. And such rosy cheeks… That didn't last though. By the end, the life had left those eyes and the colour had drained from those cheeks.

 _No._

He forced himself away from the dark thoughts, only to realise that the other were staring at him, as if waiting for his response to a question or a comment that he had clearly not paid any attention to. "Sorry," he said. "I missed that."

Longbottom glanced at the others before turning to him, an eyebrow raised. "Are you alright?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," Draco replied almost instantly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you looked like you–"

"Like you were lost in your own world," Luna cut in. "I do that too sometimes."

That he was behaving in a manner that Luna Lovegood found to be relatable was hardly consoling. Worse, of course, was the fact that Ginevra was staring at him with a small frown, as if she was trying to read him, and he worried that she might succeed to an extent. The last thing he wanted to do was share his despairs with her.

Mercifully, the arrival of an old witch with grey hair and a beaky nose brought a much-needed intrusion to their table. "There you are, Ginevra," she said. "Have you been avoiding me, child?"

"Of course not, Auntie," Ginevra got up to hug the woman. "I didn't notice you."

That last statement alone made it clear to Draco that she _had_ been trying to avoid the elderly lady, whose ancient-looking gigantic pink hat made it impossible not to notice her. Suppressing his amusement, he stood up as a gentleman would when a lady approaches a table. His movement, though, attracted attention towards him.

"Finally. Someone who is wearing proper clothes!" The old woman declared as she eyed him from head to toe. "And who's this young man?"

"This is Draco Malfoy, my boyfriend." Ginevra introduced them. "And Draco, meet my great-great aunt Muriel."

Draco held out his hand with a polite smile. He liked this old witch who clearly had an eye for good dress sense. "It's a pleasure to me–"

"So, you _are_ courting a Malfoy, then?" Muriel asked Ginevra with disdain, making no move to take his hand. "I saw those risqué photographs of you in the paper and hoped that it was some sort of trick – they can do so much artificial stuff to photos these days, you know? – but I should have known. Rita Skeeter would never write lies. She's as honest as they come."

 _Huh_. Maybe he had been to quick to judge this old hag.

"A Weasley and a Malfoy!" Muriel scoffed as she sat down and gestured for them to do the same. "Did you get yourself checked for an Imperius Curse?"

Ginevra picked up a glass of wine from a floating tray and plopped down in her seat. "As a matter of fact, Bill did," she said icily. "And he found nothing."

"He's a good curse-breaker. His checks must have been correct – unless he was distracted by that French wife of his," Muriel shook her head. "A part-Veela, a muggle-born and now a Death Eater. You Weasleys do choose the most curious partners."

"Ex-Death Eater," Luna interjected.

The old woman shot her a rather judgmental look before turning to Draco. "I have you to say, you look much more handsome in your photos than you are in real life," she said. "Dare I ask what scheme you have got hatching, Malfoy?"

"Scheme?" Draco asked, baffled.

"Well, there has to be an underlying evil reason as to why you're interested in Ginevra here."

"No, ma'am."

Muriel hummed thoughtfully, as if pondering whether he could want something else with her great-grandniece other than to further his supposed diabolical plans was possible. "I suppose that makes sense too," she finally admitted with a shrug. "She has an above average face and excellent child-bearing hips."

Ginevra, who had chosen that moment to take a sip of her wine, sputtered her drink just as her cheeks went red. "Aunt Muriel!" she reprimanded, outraged.

Neville let out a laugh that he tried to cover up as a not-so-subtle cough. Even Luna raised an eyebrow.

Draco pursed his lips in amusement, wondering how odd it was that he found himself actually liking this uncouth, rude and downright blunt old hag. "I think Ginevra is a most singular woman, ma'am," he said politely, then added as an afterthought: "And I can unashamedly admit that I am most fond of her hips, though not for the reason that you mentioned."

Ginevra's head snapped towards him, her mouth hanging open, and he cheekily winked at her. Her face turned an even deeper shade of red, which he did not think was even possible. Any more red and she would turn into an actual tomato.

"Such lewd conversation," Muriel tutted. "It's your fault, Ginevra, what with dressing like that and flaunting your – your _assets_!"

"I believe the word is 'breasts'," Ginevra said coldly. She had clearly turned her embarrassment into irritation. "And they're mine so I can _flaunt_ them wherever I want."

"Young people these days!" Muriel scoffed dejectedly, as if she had no hope that the future generations would ever be able to do something right in the world. Then – "Is that Minerva McGonagall? Blimey, she's gotten old." She stood up and pointed towards the Headmistress of Hogwarts, who was sitting at a table in the opposite corner of the marquee, chatting with some other guests. "Well, take me to her or have you no manners left at all?"

"Of course, Aunt Muriel," Ginevra said as she stood up, an odd relief hidden in her voice as if she was glad to take this rude relative of hers away and put an end to this train wreck of a conversation. Escorting said relative away would mean that she would still have to endure more of her commentary though, which is probably why she grabbed Longbottom's glass of firewhiskey before she left.

Draco watched them go. "Charming woman," he commented dryly.

"Yeah," Longbottom agreed. "Scares me as much as my gran once did."

He remembered how terrified the once-fat kid had been of his grandmother back at Hogwarts. "Is there anyone who hasn't bullied you, Longbottom?"

Longbottom crossed his arms defensively. "My gran was stern, but she loved me and she did the best she could. All our families did." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Except maybe yours."

"Wanker," Draco simply said, choosing not to be offended by the comment. It did not matter to him what others thought of his upbringing. He knew his parents had indeed done the best they could, and he did not fault them for anything. Not anymore. He had been raised a certain way, yes, but he had never been stupid. He had been wilful, and his own personal slate was anything but clean.

"She was right about your appearance though. You have circles under your eyes," Luna spoke up, her twinkling eyes fixed on him. "You should try using the saliva of a Blibbering Humdinger. It's said to be very good for the ski–"

"Oh, shut up, Loony!" He scoffed, unnerved by her comment. Did his appearance give away the fact that he was haunted by his nightmares?

"Oi!" Longbottom sat up angrily, ready to defend his girlfriend.

"It's alright," Luna placed a hand on his arm. "I don't mind it when Draco calls me that. It's like an inside joke for us… Oh, look!" she stood up. "Charlie is here. I have to continue our discussion about dragon livers. Excuse me."

She left, but a bitter reminder that Luna Lovegood had once been a prisoner in the cellar of the Malfoy Manor stayed with Draco. He had seen her only four or five times back then; he had gone to make sure that she was being fed properly and had somehow ended up sitting there and talking to her. She was loyal enough to never reveal anything about the Golden Trio or Dumbledore's Army, but she didn't mind talking about the classes at Hogwarts and which professors she thought suffered from usual Wrackspurt attacks. The conversations had never lasted more than a few minutes, but they had been a much-needed escape for both of them.

Conversations with Luna Lovegood – that is how low he had fallen during those times.

Longbottom's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked up at him foolishly. "Pardon?"

"I… was asking if you'd finished your research on the Sopophorous," Longbottom said slowly, then leaned forward. "Are you alright, mate? You seem pale."

"I'm fine." Draco replied automatically, then launched into a discussion about the healing characteristics of the Sopophorous plant. It was a pleasant conversation that not only provided him with a much-needed distraction from his past, but also gave him an insight into Herbology that he very much needed for his work. As he spoke to Longbottom, he realised that the man had an admirable understanding of plants and their properties, which could prove useful for the project that he had in mind.

Some twenty minutes later, the two of them were still enthusiastically discussing whether the bark of Moonseed could be used in a life-saving potion rather than poison, when Draco's gaze fell upon the dance floor.

Ginevra was dancing with Harry Potter.

Potter leaned forward to whisper something in her ear, and as he did, his arms tightened around her waist. She did not seem to notice, or perhaps she did but had no objection to it. Instead she laughed. and he joined in a moment later. They seemed to be the very picture of a happy couple.

A little green monster rose up within Draco, filling him with an intense dislike of what he was seeing. It wasn't hard to understand that the monster was called jealousy, it was somewhat surprising that he would experience the feeling with such intensity – so much so that he had half a mind to storm over there, pull Ginevra away and challenge that spectacled git to a duel. As tempting as the thought was, he held his relationship in too high a regard to succumb to a petty feeling such as jealousy. He could not, however, continue to sit there anymore.

He excused himself politely and walked over to the edge of the dance floor.

It took Ginevra about half a minute to notice him and her lips turned into a smile, as if she knew that he was waiting to ask her to dance with him. She winked, then focused her attention back on Pothead and resumed whatever conversation they were having.

Draco waited patiently. He didn't have to for much long though, for the song came to an end soon enough and he took the opportunity to approach. "May I have this dance?" he asked his girlfriend.

"You may," Ginevra responded. She smiled at Potter – who, all of a sudden, seemed rather disgruntled – and then stepped towards him.

When Draco was little, his grand-mère had hired a special instructor to teach him proper dancing. He had spent years stuck with Pansy, Nott and Daphne, trying to master the Tango – which he had after a while; he never boasted about it, but he'd actually enjoyed learning Waltz and Viennese Waltz. The orchestra had already started up a melody that would have been quite fit for a Waltz, but he did not want to show off his skills. Perhaps one day he could take Ginevra out dancing and surprise her, but for now, he was more than content with wrapping his arms around her waist and just swaying to the tune.

"You look beautiful," he told her.

Ginevra's eyes met his. "And you, handsome."

"I know."

That made her giggle, which was not a very common occurrence in his experience. "Modesty suits you, Draco." Her words were slightly slurred, and her cheeks flushed. He wondered how many drinks she had had since she had left him to escort her great aunt away.

"Most things suit me, Ginevra," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Must you call me that?" she made a face. "Aunt Muriel calls me that."

"Well, it is your name."

"My name's Ginny."

"It really isn't," He pointed out. "It's a bas–"

" _Bastardization_ of my name, I know." She pursed her lips as she frowned in thought. "What sort of a person uses the word 'bastardization'?"

"The kind who has a rich vocabulary." Draco stated. "Besides, I don't like G-Ginny." Salazar, he had stuttered even in uttering that ridiculous shortened name. He never quite understood why people did that; surely, ruining a proper full name could not amount to expressing affection?

She made a face. "From your mouth, I don't like it either," she said, then added with a resigned shrug. "Ginevra will do."

"Thank you," he said, glad that she had seen reason.

They fell into a silence after that and just moved to the soft melody that was playing. He absently started brushing the tips of his fingers on the skin of her back, and she let out a soft sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. It was most intriguing how much at peace he felt in that moment; all the noise of the world just seemed to fade away, leaving behind a much-needed emptiness.

"You smell nice," Ginevra murmured, then looked up at him suspiciously. "How come you always smell nice?"

Had he been a modest person, he would have stated truthfully that he did not smell nice _all_ the time or that he had a fantastic choice when it came to colognes, but as it was, he knew he had to respond in his usual manner. "Because I'm me."

She rolled her eyes. "A big-headed git, you mean?" she asked, but then launched into a story about the different body odours she had had to suffer while growing up with two dozen brothers. Apparently, training with the Gryffindor Quidditch team was not a flowery experience either. If anything, it had been worse. One time, she had actually tied her scarf around her nose to keep herself from fainting.

Draco was, however, too distracted by a somewhat amusing revelation to even think about how he always knew that Gryffindors were utterly classless, good-for-nothing, smelly buffoons. In that moment, all he could focus on was how animated Ginevra was as she _babbled_ on – for that is what she was doing – about a topic that a sane person would never really wish to discuss in such great depth. That, too, in the middle of the dance floor at a wedding. Which led him to a very simple conclusion: "Ginevra Weasley, you are a talkative drunk."

Her eyes widened dramatically. "How dare you?" She gasped, outraged. "I'm not drunk. I'm… tipsy."

"Oh, really?" he raised an eyebrow.

Ginevra nodded enthusiastically. "You do _not_ want to see me drunk."

His curiosity was piqued. "Now, I kind of do."

She laughed at that. "You're annoying. And cute."

"Hold your Hippogriffs!" he huffed. "I am not _that_."

"Yes, you are. Especially when you act all indignant over adjectives." She raised her hand to poke the tip of her nose with her finger. "Cute!"

"Alright, that's it." He stopped dancing and started leading her off the dance floor. "You and I are going for a walk." In his experience, a stroll always helped clear one's alcohol-addled head. And if not, at least she could be her sloppily happy, stupid-adjective-labelling self away from the eyes and ears of the Weasley clan and save him the humiliation of being labelled 'cute' in front of the people he did not like.

They paused long enough for Ginevra to summon her cloak and then they ventured out into the grounds. A blast of chilly wind hit them, causing her to gasp and him to falter momentarily, wondering if it was a wise suggestion that he had given, but then she leaned against him as they continued down the narrow path that had been cleared to lead the guests into the marquee.

"So," she said after a short while. "I must ask: Are you alright after last night?"

Draco stiffened, a deep fear taking root in the pit of his stomach. She couldn't know, she couldn't _possibly_ know… "W-What happened last night?"

Ginevra turned her head to look at him, her brows drawn into a frown. "Your tête-à-tête with Pansy Parkinson."

Relief swarmed him instantly, and he felt the need to sag his shoulders, though he didn't for fear of seeming conspicuous. Her words did fill him with a sense of wonder, though. Had his run in with Pansy only been last night? _Merlin._ It felt like a decade had gone by. That he had nearly forgotten about that disaster wasn't surprising, though; he was more concerned about the Dolohov conundrum now. "Eavesdropping, were we?" he sneered. "I thought something sneaky like that would go against that self-righteous sort of honour that you Gryffindors have."

"It's not my fault you chose a spot six feet away from my table to pour your heart out to your ex," she retorted defensively.

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know that you were heartbroken."

There was something in her tone that caused him to glance sideways at her. "Are you jealous?"

"Me, jealous of pug-nosed Parkinson?" she scoffed. " _Please!_ "

It was very intriguing how her voice seemed to get slightly higher as she said that, which led him to a startling conclusion. "You _are_ jealous," he said, and realised that though he would never say it, the idea of Ginevra being jealous of Pansy did please him. It meant that he wasn't the only one who sometimes felt the sting of the green monster.

"And you're a presumptuous bastard," she snapped, her cheeks red. "I think I'm going to go back and continue my dance with Harry."

With an air of indignant fury, she turned to leave but he grabbed her arm with an amused laugh. "Alright, fine," he said. "I won't say it."

"Or think it," she ordered. "I have no reason to be jealous of her."

"That you are right about, my sweet."

It seemed as if she was trying to resist it, but the corners of her mouth tugged a little, which was a good sign. "And am I right about the other thing as well?" she demanded, and when he raised an eyebrow in question, she went on to elaborate. "The drama between you and her?"

Well, Ginevra Weasley was nothing if not relentless. It was a quality he both admired and found annoying.

"I'm fine," he told her with a slight shrug. "Pansy was a very important person to me growing up and I do miss being friends with her, but I wouldn't change what happened between us. Last night only gave me a closure that I didn't even know I needed."

Ginevra didn't ask any further questions, but her fingers did brush against his, whether to offer comfort or to just express her feelings – relief? Gratitude? Fondness? He couldn't really tell what was going on in her head, but he did grab her hand, almost startled at how much he relished having her by his side.

Their little walk had led them to the front steps of the Burrow, and just as he was about to turn around to head back, she tugged at his hand and led him inside the house. It was quiet because all its occupants were back at the reception, and Draco took a seat at the couch in the living room.

Ginevra, who had volunteered to hang her cloak and his coat at the hook, wandered past him towards the kitchen. "Drink?" she asked.

"No, thank you." He replied. The monstrous hangover he had experienced in the morning was still fresh in his mind and he was not looking forward to experiencing anything even remotely close to that, especially when he had so much to do in the coming days. "I don't think it'll be wise for you to have some, either."

"You're not the boss of me, Malfoy!" Her voice wafted towards him, and she reappeared a few moments later with two glasses of Firewhiskey in hand. She held out one for him. "It's my brother's wedding."

Reluctantly, he accepted the glass and raised a dubious eyebrow. "And that means…?"

"That means drinking, dancing and more drinking." She kicked off her pumps and plopped into the seat next to him. "Isn't that the whole point of wedding parties?"

He snorted. "I'd like to think there's more to it than just that."

"Aren't you a romantic?"

"Only rarely."

Her lips curved into a smile as she curled her legs beneath her. For a short while, they enjoyed their drinks in silence, and then she spoke. "I'm sorry we haven't had much time to talk recently."

Draco shrugged away that rather unnecessary apology with a slight shake of his head. "I've been busy as well."

"I was barely there for you when Harry took you away for questioning." She paused for a moment, then continued in a soft voice, "I shouted at him for that, y'know? Told him he was being an idiot."

"While I do agree with that statement, you shouldn't have," he told her as he put away his half-full glass on the table. "The feud between us is… complicated. And I'd like to think that I can handle it on my own."

"Did you?"

He thought back to all those frustrating hours he had spent in the Ministry only a few nights ago. Merlin, it felt like ages had passed since. "I did."

Ginevra seemed dubious. "And the Aurors are okay with the way your Dark Mark looked?"

"They're never okay with me, but they have no evidence whatsoever of my involvement in anything even remotely controversial." That is, of course, barring his surprise meeting with Dolohov last night and his newfound knowledge that there was another Dark movement brewing underneath the very nose of this good-for-nothing Ministry. He couldn't tell her that, though. It was best to keep her away from this mess and stay away as much as he could himself. "I'm clean."

She downed the content of her glass and placed it on the table with a loud _clink_ , deep in thought. "I cannot help but wonder if this is because of me. Because you and I are–"

"I hope this isn't the beginning of a break-up speech," he warned. Holy Merlin, he would grab her and shake her until she came to her senses if that would be the case.

"No, of course not!" She replied. "But you cannot deny that our relationship–"

"Ginevra," he cut her off with a slight shake of his head. "While it is true that our relationship has certainly fuelled Potter's anger towards me and will most probably lead to some heated confrontations between us in the future, I do not think for a second that his actions were driven _only_ by jealousy."

"You're right," she sighed dejectedly. "Still, if there is anything I can do."

He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against her soft cheek. "I appreciate the offer, my dear, but some battles I need to fight by myself."

She leaned into his touch, a small smile playing on her lips. "You know, I really admire how pragmatic you are."

"Did you just praise me instead of the usual 'arrogant git'?" He raised an eyebrow in mock alarm. "Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?"

"Maybe it's the whiskey."

"In that case, I shall endeavour to get you drunk more often."

Ginevra laughed and then leaned forward to kiss him – a gesture that he welcomed wholly. Her lips were pleasantly soft, and he buried his fingers in her red hair and scratched at her scalp in a way that he had discovered she quite liked. She moaned softly and pressed herself closer to him, another thing that he welcomed.

It was only when she pushed herself into his lap that he realised that they were in the bloody living room of the Weasley house. "Ginevra," he pulled away. "Someone might come in."

"Everyone's at the wedding," she whispered before reclaiming his lips.

Yes, well. She was right about that, but what if one of her two hundred thousand wanted to use the loo, or what if her parents decided to come in and take a break from the monstrous children they had sired?

It's not that Draco was afraid of getting caught snogging his girlfriend, but the idea did not seem much too appealing to him, especially considering that things were starting to heat up between them if Ginevra's subconsciously rolling hips were anything to go by. Had they been at the Manor, he would have had no qualms about allowing their situation to progress naturally because the chances of anyone walking in were minimal; living alone in a large mansion did have its advantages, after all. But here – no. It just felt _wrong._

Sweet Merlin! She had somehow managed to sneak her hand in between their bodies and the heel of her palm was grinding into the front of his trousers. Between that and the way she was nipping at his lip, lust began to pool through his veins – how could it not? – and his body began to react to her touch.

"Ginevra–"

"Draco," she breathed.

Every bone in his body craved for her, but to give in would leave them at a risk. Anyone could walk in; his propriety would not allow him to even consider that possibility, which is why he grabbed at her arms and tried to push her away. "No," he mumbled. "Not here."

She let out an exasperated groan, then stood up quick as lightning. For a moment he thought she was angry, but then she grasped his hand, pulled him to his feet with surprising force and led him up the stairs. He followed – not that he had much choice; her grip was quite strong – until she shoved him through a doorway on the first landing.

He knew instantly that he was in Ginevra's bedroom. It was small but cosy, with a bed pushed up against a window that overlooked the orchard outside, and a desk and chair to his right. The walls were painted cream, but he could tell that they had once been a different colour. Perhaps pink.

His grand-mère had always said that it was possible to tell volumes about a person just by observing his dwelling place, and as much as he wanted to look around Ginevra's room, he did not have the time to do it–

The door behind him had slammed shut and his kind-of-tipsy and lust-addled girlfriend had pounced on him.

He stumbled back and his foot caught in the corner of the rug. Having nothing to hold onto, he fell to the ground, though not before knocking his head into the foot of the desk with a rather loud _smack._ Pain erupted like fireworks, so much so that he barely noticed when he landed on the ground, though he did realise it when Ginevra ended up falling on top of him and knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Lack of air and blinding pain – almost literally, because all he could see were dancing stars – was not a good combination, Draco mused. He did not have time to swim out of it, for his girlfriend, who had either not realised that she had nearly cracked his skull open or did not care about that fact, kissed him. The taste of her mouth was quite pleasing, though, so he decided that he could forgive her.

Her fingers made a quick work of the buttons of his shirt before travelling lower to his trousers, and the touch of her lips moving down his chin lulled him into an odd feeling that he could only describe as being underwater. That, combined with the shock of his throbbing head, left him not being able to do much than follow her lead.

Ginevra was swift with her movements as he pulled his trousers off and her dress up – the movements of a woman who knew what she wanted, and by Merlin, she took it. As he lay back, watching her move above him, their bodies connected in the most sinful of ways, moans of ecstasy escaping from both their lips and raw pleasure of her touch soaring through his veins, it occurred to him that she was basically fucking him into the floor. And he had absolutely no problem with that. In fact, she was very much welcome to do so anytime she wanted.

There were multiple moments when he thought that his heart was going to give out but he could not bring himself to care much about anything other than the indescribable things Ginevra was doing to him. At long last – or perhaps too soon, he could not tell – it was over. She collapsed on top of him, her body shivering as the last tremors of her orgasm faded away, and he blinked up blindly at the ceiling of her room, panting like a rabid dog. It took a minute or two for him to catch his breath, and he let out a laugh.

"I am _definitely_ getting you drunk more often," he said.

With a chortle, she raised her head to look at her, her eyes twinkling with mirth and her cheeks red. "Git." The tip of her nose brushed against his. "My git."

"Yours," he agreed as he raised his head to place a quick but firm kiss on her lips.

They stood up then and started fixing their dishevelled appearance in relative silence. Draco finished up first; as much as his vanity demanded perfect clothes and hair, he still had much less to fix compared to a woman. So, while Ginevra walked over to dresser mirror to redo her makeup, he took this time to study the little things in her room that he had previously missed.

There was a pot of flitterbloom on the windowsill, its long tentacles swaying aimlessly. The door to her closet was ajar and the contents inside were spewed so madly that he had to actually shove away the urge to organise them; perhaps he could lecture her about the wisdom of keeping a neat wardrobe some other day. On the wall above her desk was a shelf laden with an impressive collection of books. On one side were muggle books: _the complete works of Jane Austen, Oliver Twist, and The Lord of the Rings_. On the opposite side were the books from the wizarding world: _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , _Why I Didn't Die When the Augurey Cried_ by Gulliver Pokeby, _Sage of Eternity_ by Mathilda Bones, _The Noble Sport of Warlocks_ by Quintius Umfraville and _The Bludger Chase_ by Caitriona McCormack.

What caught his eye, though, was something that lay in the middle of the shelf, between the books: Four photo frames. The first was a photo of a teenaged Ginevra with her parents and brothers. The second was a photo of her with Weaselbee, Granger, Longbottom, Luna and Potter. It must have been taken when she was still dating Scarhead, judging by the way she rested her head on his shoulder and leaned into his touch while they all laughed at something Weaselbee was saying. The third photo was a group shot of the Holyhead Harpies celebrating a victory. The last photo was of her and one of the twins – the one who had died. In the photograph, Fred (was that his name?) pulled at Ginevra's hair and she elbowed him swiftly in the gut, and then the two smirked at each other, their expressions dripping with mischief and sibling love.

In the time that they had been together, she had never really spoken of her dead brother to him but he doubted it was because she had gotten over the loss. Draco had no siblings himself; Blaise was the closest thing he had to a brother, and he could not imagine his life without that whiskey-stealing, obnoxious bastard. How utterly terrible the trauma must have been for her.

The war had taken so much from so many. He doubted there was a person back in that marquee who hadn't lost someone dear to them at the hands of the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters. He had been one of those Death Eaters, and his hands were coated red in blood as much as Dolohov's or Bellatrix's or his father's. It didn't matter that he had had no choice but to take the Mark, that he had done so to protect his family. Besides, he could lie to the world, he could not lie to himself; a part of him wanted the Mark. He had yearned for glory. He had wanted to impress his father and to please the Dark Lord. As a result, he had been a part of unspeakable missions and ended up causing so much harm.

Hornsby's daughter. That poor little girl. And her wide, lifeless eyes.

A pair of arms wrapped around his middle, and Draco nearly jumped in surprise, only to realise that it was just Ginevra. Her hair and makeup back in place, she rested her head against his shoulder. "What are you thinking?" she asked softly.

Oh, she did _not_ need to know the answer to that. "It's a good book – _Sage of Eternity_ ," he lied smoothly, then turned around to face her. "We should head back, don't you think? Or everyone at the party will think you've abandoned them."

"I think everyone is more interested in Ron and Hermione today," she said. "But you're right."

They left the house in silence, and Draco felt no desire to fill it with conversation. The memories of the war had soured his mood. He had always known that he could not deny his past; his deeds were beyond that. He could not run either – and he hadn't run when the Aurors had come to arrest him six years ago. He faced the consequences of his actions. He had shut the door on his past so he could start anew.

It seemed the past was not ready to let go of him just yet.

' _You are either with us or against us. Choose wisely.'_

Dolohov's words rang in his ears, and he felt dread take hold in the pit of his stomach once again. He did not want to get dragged into this, not again. Not after all this time. Not after all that _he_ had suffered. No one knew what he had had to endure, no one would ever understand what he had lost. He had paid a terrible cost for the Mark branded onto his arm. And now the darkness was gathering once again.

A gentle nudge caused him to snap out of his thoughts. Ginevra was staring at him, as if waiting for his response. "Sorry. I missed that," he said for the second time that night. Or was it third? "What were you saying?"

Her brows drew into a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Of course."

His response clearly failed to satisfy her, for her frown deepened. "I've been noticing you since you came here." She stopped outside the marquee and took his hand in hers. "You seem… _worried_."

He did not wish to deny the truth behind her observations, but he was not ready to confirm them either. "It's a happy day for you and your family," he said instead. "You should enjoy it." The merry gathering inside the marquee had provided a decent distraction, but it did little to ease the turmoil brewing within him. He saw no reason to force it upon her as well. Not just yet, anyway. "We can talk about the world later."

She looked at him for a long moment, then said, "I will hold you to that, Draco Malfoy." That was not surprising, of course; stubborn wench that she was, she would bug him to death until he answered her questions. And then follow him into the grave to get some more.

He smiled slowly, feeling an odd fondness at this infuriating trait of hers. "I should go." He had come here for distraction, to clear his mind and he had achieved that. But now, he was lingering here for longer than necessary, especially when there were more pressing matters that he demanded his attention. His father would be safe in Azkaban, but the wards around his mother's residence in Tuscany needed to be strengthened; Dolohov was the sort of arsehole who would use her to blackmail him into submission, and that would not do.

"Already?" Ginevra asked. "You've barely stayed an hour."

"It's much more than I can bear of your Weasley clan, I assure you." He told her. "Besides, I know I'm not welcome here."

She opened her mouth to rebut, but he stopped her with a gentle kiss. "Alright," she mumbled reluctantly when they parted. "Go if you must." She tugged at his hand, then, her eyes boring into his. "Draco, you can tell me what is bothering you."

"I know." He placed another, longer kiss on her lips. "I will see you soon, darling." And with that, he walked away.

 **xx**

It was rather alarming, Draco Malfoy mused, how visceral and jarring his reaction was every time the thought of her eyes crossed his mind.

He had been to many Death Eater missions, each more terrible than the last, but Hornsby's daughter had haunted him like no other. It had been such a waste of life, and he was as much responsible for it as Dolohov.

 _Dolohov._

Back then, there had been no escape for Draco; after all, there was no denying the Dark Lord. But this time, he would not allow the same pit to swallow him. He had no idea how he was going to do it, but for the sake of his mother, for the sake of Ginevra and for the sake of his tortured, shattered soul, he would find a way to resist Dolohov's mad mission.

* * *

 **Wow, that was long, wasn't it? Draco is such a complicated character to write, but I enjoy the challenge very much. I hope you all like my version of him.**

 **Once again, I'm sorry for the delay in the update and** **I wanted to let you all know that while I may be late with updates (though I'll try my hardest not to be), I'm _never_ going to abandon this story. I plan on writing all of it, and you're all in for a wild ride! **

**What did you think of this chapter? Do let me know. REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!**

 **Until next time! x**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello, readers!**

 **I am so, so sorry for leaving you all hanging for months. Life has been terribly difficult. BUT I'm back with a new chapter. It's short, but that is completely deliberate. More on that at the end. For now, please do read, enjoy and review this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: HP is Rowling's. This story is mine.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 13**

* * *

Ginny Weasley had made a terrible mistake.

After all the horrible things she had been through in her life, one would think that she'd have learned. Apparently not. And now, everything was ruined.

 **xx**

"You're late," Ginny pointed out as she glared at the idiot who had kept her waiting in the tiny, slightly overcrowded café in Diagon Alley for nearly half an hour.

"Sorry," Neville mumbled as he took off his mostly wet coat and hung it on the back of his chair before taking a seat. "The Floo traffic was horrible."

"And you lost track of time," she wagered a guess.

"And I lost track of time," he admitted sheepishly. "The blokes at the Auror Department had some wild tales to tell."

"I can imagine." Harry used to tell her many of such tales back when they were dating. Ron still shared them, though Ginny had learned treat his words with caution after that one time when he managed to convince her that he had sort of battled a vicious dragon – it had been a sleeping baby dragon, Harry had clarified later on. "Do you miss it?"

"What, being an Auror?"

She nodded. "You were good at it, you know?"

Neville thought for a moment. "It's adventurous work and the pay is great, but I only joined the department because they needed us at the time. I'm happy with Herbology."

A few minutes later, the two friends were sipping hot coffee and nibbling on chocolate chip cookies. "It's everywhere, isn't it?" she asked, nodding at the people in the café, almost all of whom were either reading or discussing the _Daily Prophet's_ top story. She had read it herself earlier that morning, and it had not left her quite at ease.

 _ **FRENCH MINISTRY OF MAGIC TARGETS MUGGLE-BORNS IN CONTROVERSIAL NEW ACT  
**_ _By, Padma Patil_

 _The French Ministry of Magic will monitor the movements and communications of muggle-borns and their families residing in France, announced the Head of Bureau de la Justice Magique in a press conference._

 _This comes as part of 'Loi sur la Surveillance et la Sécurité' (Surveillance and Security Act), which was passed by a majority of 61 percent in the Ministry last night after a rigorous week-long debate._

" _I believe society becomes stronger when we protect our own," said Edmond Lefebvre, Adviser to the French Minister for Magic. "Unfettered magic-muggle relations have led us to disaster, and I believe that the passing of this Act is a big milestone in the creation of a new, better France for the wizarding kind."_

 _The Act, which has come into effect immediately, gives French Aurors the right to detain and question muggle-borns and their immediate families without any warrant. It has also, however, shone a light on the splintering politics within the French Ministry._

" _It is an unjust law that was passed today," Abel Derocles, Head of the Bureau des Magicommunications, told the press. "I tried my best to stop it, [but] I failed. Now, the Ministry will violate the privacy of our fellow wizards and witches."_

 _Concerns have also been raised about how this new law will impact the relations between the Ministry and the muggle government, which have been on a decline since the Chaucer case last month._

 _French Ministry of Magic employee, Alfred Chaucer, his wife and three of their children were found dead in their home in Rouen, with the words "Death to Magical Freaks" painted in blood on their wall. Two muggle men suspected to be involved in the brutal crime were arrested last week in Paris, according to a statement released by the Bureau des Aurors._

 _No further details regarding the investigation have been released so far, but sources say that France's muggle government has asked for the suspects to be released into their custody and were refused earlier this week._

"The muggle-borns always get a broom with the short stick," Ginny declared angrily. It irked her how after that wretched war, after all the losses – after Fred – people still stuck to their old ways. Had nobody learned that hatred would beget more hatred? "The people in the French Ministry are just using the Chaucer murders as an excuse to further their aristocratic, pureblood agenda."

"Perhaps," Neville said. "But they did have the majority."

"I'm sure they swayed all those people to their side with bribes."

"I'm told it was evidence," he said quietly.

Ginny stilled at that. "Do you know something?"

"Maybe." Neville looked around cautiously, as if he was searching for eavesdroppers in the little café. Then he quickly pulled out his wand and cast a quick _Muffliato_ to provide them with some privacy. "The Chaucer murders were indeed committed by three muggles, but they didn't just randomly stumble upon a wizarding family and decide to slaughter them. It was planned."

Well, that didn't sound good. "How so?"

"Jeremy Chaucer," Neville said. Sixteen-year-old Jeremy Chaucer was the only member of the family who had survived the attack, that too by sheer luck: he had been at Beauxbatons when the murders had taken place. "His best friend at school was a girl named Emily Carre. Muggle-born. Decent family. He went to stay over at her place in Calais during the summer."

"And?"

"At the same time, Emily's cousin, Samuel Carre, was visiting. He's lived on and off with her family for years, kind of like Harry did with the Dursleys. So, Samuel knew all about magic – but I suppose, no one knew that he considered it to be, well, _unnatural_. Apparently, he told two of his more radical-minded friends everything, and together they tracked Jeremy's home and murdered his entire family."

Ginny was silent for a few moments, utterly horrified. It amazed her always, and not in a good way, how easy it was for certain people to hate – to be motivated by a hatred so pure that it left them with no qualms about taking another life. "How could you possibly know all that?" she asked.

"The blokes at our Auror department have been in touch with their French counterpart," Neville told her. Well, that was probably another reason why he was late.

"Was Samuel arrested?"

"No, he's still at large. But they arrested his friends. I reckon it won't be long before they get him too," Neville said. "They just don't want this story getting out in the public. It is still an ongoing investigation, and they're worried that it will only cause hysteria."

"I reckon they're right," Ginny stated. It wasn't new for her to find out confidential information from the Auror Department – both Harry and Ron had often trusted her with the cases they worked on, and she had sense enough to never share it with anyone else. "When is Luna leaving?" she asked, deciding that it was best to steer onto more neutral topics.

"Tomorrow." Neville replied sourly as he removed the _Muffliato_ charm. "Back to Brazil. Won't even make it back for Christmas or New Year."

She nodded sympathetically. Nevilla and Luna loved each other to bits, but it was becoming rather obvious that the long-distance was taking its toll on both of them. "Maybe you can visit her."

"In the middle of the wilderness?" he asked dubiously.

"It'll be an adventure!"

Neville chuckled half-heartedly. "Maybe. What about you? How is your blondie?"

"I should ask you. You were the one chatting away with him at the wedding yesterday."

"He knows stuff about Herbology. And you did invite him to the wedding and abandon him with us."

"I did not!" she protested. Honestly, the only reason she'd left was to 'escort' Auntie Muriel away, which was a relief considering the bizarre things that woman was saying. Merlin, the humiliation! The thought of that conversation alone caused blood to rush to her cheeks.

Neville chuckled, then reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. "He's not so bad, Ginny."

A wide smile spread on Ginny's face at that. All she wanted was for her family and friends to accept Draco. Her family hadn't; they had made terse peace of-sorts with it, but that peace unpredictable and volatile. That Neville, one of her dearest friends, was supportive of her relationship meant the world to her. "Thank you," she squeezed his hand lightly.

"Though its not for me to say, but I reckon Malfoy's got some issues."

That caused her to frown. "What do you mean?"

"He seemed… zoned out, you know?" He leaned back with a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe it's just stress from work; we all have that."

"Hmm. He's very busy these days," she hummed nonchalantly. The wheels in her brain were whirring, though. She had noticed Draco's behaviour too – how he tensed up, how he escaped into his thoughts, how suddenly his mood changed. She knew him enough to know that it wasn't weariness. Something was bothering him, something big enough to seep through that carefully constructed persona that Draco liked to exude in public.

He had promised that he would tell her. Maybe it was time to find out.

 **xx**

The Malfoys had the most eccentric house-elves.

Draco had once mentioned that his mother's personal house-elf, Effie, not only dressed in bright pink colours but had also asked for a clause to be added to her contract where she would be given a bottle of wine from the Malfoy vineyard every month as part of her salary. Then, there was the grumpy Soodey, who harboured a particular hatred for making, drinking or serving tea because his grandfather had drowned in a cauldron of herbal tea. And now, Yugo – who, it turned out, not only held a particular love for the muggle cinema, but also for cleaning chandeliers.

Ginny had been about to enter Draco's study when Yugo had appeared with a _pop,_ carrying a basket containing an ugly orange feather duster, cotton cleaning wipes, _Madame Glossy's Bronze Polish_ and a spray-bottle of _Mrs. Skower's Extra Shine Glass and Crystal Cleaning Potion_. He told her that it was the 'Malfoy Manor Chandelier Cleaning Day' – a day he had been looking forward to for two months, which meant that the Manor was generally off-limits to everyone. Except for the library, which Yugo had finished off cleaning early that morning so that 'Master Draco Sir' would have someplace to relax.

The elf then escorted her to said library and shut the door much too eagerly after her. He might have even locked it; she thought she heard a faint click, but she couldn't be sure. Her attention, after all, was focused on the gigantic, two-storey room she was in.

 _This is what Hermione's wet dreams must look like_ , she mused.

The library was built in fine mahogany, and the walls were covered in books and scrolls as far as her eyes could see. She was on the upper storey, which was basically a mezzanine. A spiral staircase led down to the main level, where there was a massive roaring hearth, leather armchairs and a mini bar. The coffee table was laden with what appeared to be a stack of office files and freshly cut quills, as if someone was working there.

It was a shame – and also a tad awkward – that it was the first time she had set foot in here. She'd only been to a handful of rooms of the huge Manor in the past few months, now that she thought about it, and that simply won't do. She was going on insist on a tour.

"You _will_ mind your bloody tone, Lukas!"

Ginny started at the angry voice. Taken as she had been with the room, she hadn't even noticed that her boyfriend was sitting in one of the armchairs, glaring at a very familiar looking Frenchman.

"Only if Narcissa mindz her own business!" Lukas Lefebvre, Draco's distant cousin, shot back as he poured himself a dram at the mini bar. She remembered him, of course. "I waz only hanging out with my friend, pour l'amour de Merlin!"

"If it was indeed something as _innocent_ as that, then you have no reason to be so angry." Draco pointed out.

"Tante Coline will not get off my back, and it iz because of your mother."

"My mother and I couldn't care less about what sort of company you keep, I assure you."

Ginny took a hesitant step back. This was clearly a family quarrel and she had no business eavesdropping. As silently as she could, she tried the door – only to find it locked. Yugo, that little chandelier-cleaning shit!

The conversation between the men went on downstairs. Draco spoke, his voice no longer angry but rather filled with the casual, condescending tone that Malfoys were masters of. "Though for the sake of the respect I have for your father's work, I would ask you to be wary of your companions."

Something in those words – she did not quite know what – made her pause, and without even meaning to, she became an incognito observer to whatever it was that was going on between the two men.

Lukas snorted in disdain. "Iz that so?"

Draco picked up a of the _Daily Prophet_ from the coffee table and waved it lightly. "You are aware of the main story, I presume?" he asked as he dropped the newspaper back with a small thump. "Any misstep on your part, any affiliations with the wrong crowd, will undo what Edmond has achieved."

" _Achieved_?" Lukas asked incredulously. "A family of wizard-kind is dead and all mon père has done is furthered his political motives." He shifted on his feet, fingers bunched into a fist, as if he wanted to hit something – or someone. "He should have had those – those _fils de putes_ killed and their bodies hung in the street for everyone to see."

"And what, exactly, would that rather violent display accomplish?"

"It would have sent a clear message to our enemiez. Instead, my father haz passed a _law!_ " He downed the contents of his glass and slammed it onto the bar top, his expression one of utter disgust.

"He was right to do so," Draco stated matter-of-factly. "The Act will prevent further atrocities. It's a shame that no one in Britain has the spine to take a step such as this."

Ah. It clicked. It was the admiration in Draco's voice for Edmond Lefebvre that had made her paused earlier. And that realisation caused Ginny to frown.

It was no secret that the Malfoys had been one of the frontrunners of the 'pureblood-first' movements in Britain's wizarding society. Their support of Voldemort during the war alone spoke volumes of what Lucius Malfoy thought of muggles and muggle-borns.

But that was before.

Now, Draco was trying to rebuild the Malfoy name into something much more _liberal._ She knew that he conducted business with muggles, his charity worked towards the rehabilitation of witches and wizards haunted by the war, most of which were, let's face it, muggle-borns, and not once had she witnessed him say or do something that could be construed as discrimination. She would never have dated him for these months had he been the same blood-supremacist bully that he had once been at Hogwarts.

Why, then, was he expressing his approval for a law so heinous?

"You are talking about dabbing medicine onto the festered wound, Lukas," Draco said. "Your father is working on ripping the infection out root and stem."

Lukas eyed him for a long moment, then shook his head. "Crabbe waz right. You are much more shrewd than you let on."

"I should be flattered, to be the topic of your and Crabbe's conversations."

"I don't know if you should."

"Oh?"

"He told me you are a lion in sheep's clothing. So, it iz little wonder that my father likes you so." Lukas sauntered over to the fireplace and reached for the pot containing the floo powder. "Stay out of my personal life, mon cher cousin. Your mother, too. Au revoir." And in a flash of green flames, he was gone.

The room fell silent after the Frenchman's departure, and Ginny, baffled as she was with what she had just witnessed, wondered if she should simply leave or make her presence known when–

"You don't have to hide anymore," Draco said, then glanced up at her.

"I wasn't hiding," she told him, hating how her voice sounded so defensive even to her own ears.

"No, only eavesdropping," he stated, an amused smirk on his lips. "This is becoming a habit of yours, my sweet."

He appeared to be calm, casual, careless in the way that he usually was when he spoke to her now, as if everything was normal and was wrong whatsoever. Maybe it wasn't for him, but something certainly felt very wrong to her, and she decided to confront it. Spending hours pondering over it wouldn't get her anywhere; it was better to face a problem than to speculate about it anyway. So, she made her way down the stairs to him. "Did you mean the things you said to him?" she asked. "About the French law."

"I take it you're not a fan."

"Don't tell me you are," she said firmly, and a hint of a frown appeared on his face, as if he was realising that this was indeed a serious conversation. "They're going to trample on the civil liberties of muggle-borns."

He stood up with a tired sigh. "I am not going to discuss politics with you, Ginevra."

This wasn't new, she realised with a jolt. Ever since they had started seeing each other, whenever they got into the vicinity of a conversation about politics or beliefs, he tended to state flat out, like he just did, that he was not interested in talking. She had been alright with it; their relationship certainly didn't revolve around what was going on in the wizarding world – but she couldn't allow this to pass, not now. So, she stepped in his way. "No."

"Yes." Draco's icy eyes met hers and all was still for a moment. Then, he continued matter-of-factly, "Yes, I meant what I said to Lukas. Things are much worse in France than the papers depict–"

"You mean the wizard-hating cousin who killed the Chaucers?" She noticed the bewilderment that flashed in his eyes, and explained, "I know people in the Auror department." She assumed that either Lukas or Edmond must have told him about the case.

"Then you understand my stance on the matter."

"No, I don't." Ginny was disappointed; no other word could sum up her feelings. She had thought better of him, expected more of him, and she was realising that she had been terribly wrong. He was still the snide, muggle-born-hating bully that he had been back at Hogwarts. "After everything, after the war, how could you still be so prejudiced?"

He snorted incredulously. " _How_ am I being prejudiced?"

"You are."

"Better than being a hypocrite, I suppose," Draco muttered pointedly.

She blanched. " _Excuse me_?"

"Oh, come on, Ginevra! Do you honestly think that you and your friends are so _noble_ that you've never discriminated against anyone? You have mistrusted Slytherins since the get go, and it has only become worse since the war ended."

"And your solution is to fight intolerance with more intolerance?" Ginny demanded. Her disappointment in him was giving way to anger, boiling through her veins, and all she wanted to do now was to throttle him.

"I could ask you the same thing," he shot back. "The Malfoys are an ancient, pureblood family that have been one of the building blocks of the wizarding community in Britain. And look we're treated."

She blinked in disbelief. "I'm sorry, did you just _say_ that?"

"I may no longer have the right to publicise my opinions, but I am entitled to hold my opinions. And I shall hold them. If you don't like that, then perhaps you can try and convince your ex-boyfriend to have a Dementor's Kiss arranged for me," he said in a calm voice, as if he had spent ages thinking about these matters and was absolutely certain about the conclusions he had reached. And that only made this situation worse. Passing prejudice was bad enough, but well-thought one was even worse. "My family deserves the recognition for the centuries of service it has given–"

"Your family's blood-supremacist ideology is what allowed Voldemort to do what he did." Dear Merlin. He had just said that. And she was so utterly furious. "And you don't get to play the victim, Draco, you're a bloody Death Eater!"

There. She said it.

For a moment he looked like he'd been struck, then a shadow fell over his face – an inscrutable mask that she could not have pierced even if she wanted to. He was angry, that much she could tell, but it was a fury that she had never witnessed before. While her infamous Weasley temper was wild and hot and fire, his seemed to be the exact opposite. He had stilled, his blue-grey eyes boring into her – the eyes of a stranger – and for the first time in a long time, Ginny felt a tinge of fear.

He could hurt her. And her instincts told her that he was going to. Her fingers inched towards her pocket, where her wand lay, ready to face his wrath.

It didn't come, though. Instead, he spoke in a low, icy voice. "Get out. _Now._ "

And without a second thought, without even glancing backwards, she did exactly that.

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley had made a terrible mistake.

All these months of dating Draco, and she didn't realise that he was still a horrible human being. Had he hidden his true thoughts so well, or had she simply been blind to it? Swept off her feet like a silly little school girl with a crush on a boy.

Damn it.

Well, it didn't matter anymore. She was walking away from him. She was done. It was over.

She only wished that it didn't hurt so much.

* * *

 **This chapter needed to be short, for the story's sake, but the ones that follow will be quite a ride - I have the next 5 chapters planned in detailed, and I've already started writing the next one so hopefully, if all goes well, the next update won't take too long.**

 **Thank you so much for reading, and please do leave a review. Your feedback means the world to me!**

 **Until next time. Cheers x.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello, readers!**

 **I can only apologize for the huge delay in posting this chapter, and I hope you'll forgive me and keep on supporting this story.**

 **I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible, but please do bear with me as I juggle two jobs, studies, a shitty personal life and this story. I do promise that I fully intend on finishing this story - and considering the plot I've laid out, it is going to be a wild roller coaster ride. So do stick around please!**

 **But without further ado, please go ahead and enjoy this chapter. It is a long one!**

 **Disclaimer: HP is Rowling's. This story is mine.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 14**

* * *

Ginny Weasley had a choice to make.

And it seemed that no one, not even the ones that she thought she could rely on the most, were going to make it easy for her.

 **xx**

Ginny plopped down on the living room sofa with a tired sigh and ran her fingers through her half-dry hair. It had been a long day. The Holyhead Harpies had been invited to a fancy brunch, hosted by one of their sponsors, and after that Gwenog had dragged them off to a rather rigorous practice session.

"You look tired," Her mother commented. She was sitting in the armchair by the fire, knitting a dark purple Weasley Christmas jumper. Christmas was only a fortnight away, after all.

"I feel tired," Ginny replied. "But the bath helped."

It had, for sure. Which meant a lot, because not much seemed to help her these days. Nearly ten days had passed since her big fight with Draco – the breakup – and it had hit her surprisingly hard. She had known that the blond git had meant a lot to her, but that his loss would leave her _grieving_ was something she had not expected.

"That's good, dear," Molly said softly. _Too_ softly. "Do you want some hot cocoa?"

"No, mum." Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Ever since she had told her family that things were over with Draco, they had been treating her with extra care, as if she was fragile – which made no sense because she knew that despite their somewhat consoling demeanours and gentle words, they were all relieved at the news. The hypocrisy irked her as much as the pointless cushioning did. "I'm fine."

There was a hint of dubiousness in her mother's expression that she quickly hid with a nod. "Of course, dear."

"Stop it!" She snapped. "Stop tiptoeing around me. I'm fine."

For a moment, Molly seemed startled, but only for a moment. "Are you?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"You don't seem it, dear." Her mother put down her knitting needles and looked at her, as if she was contemplating something. Then, after a moment or two, she spoke up. "You know, I really liked it when you and Harry were together–"

"Mum, please." Not this again. Please, Merlin. Her relationship with Harry was the last thing she wanted to talk about right now.

"And when things ended between the two of you, you were so lost," Molly went on, clearly ignoring her daughter's warning tone. "So was he, to be honest. I never really understood why you two broke up."

Ginny stood up. "I can't have this conversation."

"Ginevra." Her mother said firmly, and something in her tone made her pause. "I did not approve of your relationship with the Malfoy boy because I did not like him. I'm still not sure if I do. But Ginny, you were happier with him than I've seen you be in a long, long time. It _almost_ made me want to forgive him for all the wrongs that he has done."

If there was ever any example of rotten timing… All these months, she had begged, hoped, prayed that her family would understand her connection with Draco, that they would see that he was a changed man and that she was happy with him. And now, after finding out that he was still the prejudiced git that he had been back at Hogwarts, after she ended things with him, _now_ her mother wanted to give him a chance?

Ginny let out a laugh of incredulity, – or perhaps it was frustration, exhaustion, irony – accio-ed her coat and flooed to the first place that came to her mind: Diagon Alley. Which was a bad idea; the place was too damn crowded due to the holiday season. The entire street twinkled with bright, colourful lights, the smell of freshly baked scones from a stall wafted in the air, and a bunch of enchanted wooden-toys sang Christmas carols outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

She contemplated going in there; it had been days since she'd last seen George, but the shop was packed with customers and he would undoubtedly be busy. Besides, what she really wanted was some peace and quiet to sort out the multitude of thoughts dancing in her head, and a chaotic joke shop was not the place to get that.

With a sigh, she started towards the apparition point when her eyes caught the elegant sign of _La Nuit_ – the posh restaurant where Draco had taken her on their first date. It had been a lovely evening, and she had been thoroughly charmed by his manners and conversation.

Fuck.

The last thing she wanted to do was think of Draco Malfoy. He was a git. A prejudiced, spoiled git who had not learnt anything even after going through hell – and putting so many others through it too; he had, after all, tortured, betrayed and hurt so many people during the war. Why, then, did she miss him so much?

"Ginny!" A familiar voice caused her to turn, and she saw Percy walking out of _Pettichaps_ with a bunch of large bags.

"Percy," she smiled as she walked over to her brother. "What, did you buy the entire contents of the shop?"

"I had to buy presents for Victorie and Fred. And Audrey has five nieces and nephews," he replied. "She usually does the shopping. I thought I'd help her by doing it instead, but I'm regretting it now."

Amused, Ginny reached out and grabbed half the stuff from her brother, who was clearly having trouble carrying the gifts.

Percy smiled gratefully but when he spoke, it was not to thank her. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look… disturbed."

"I'm fine," she said, almost automatically.

It was obvious that he did not believe her, but mercifully he did not pry. He never did; it was one thing she admired most about him. It was also perhaps the reason why everything tumbled out of her mouth – Draco and Lukas' fight that she had accidentally eavesdropped on, her argument with Draco, their breakup, and what her mum had just said to her.

It felt good to unburden her heart. After the breakup, she had only informed her family and friends that things were over between Draco and her. When they had asked why, she had refused to answer. She wasn't sure why she was telling Percy of all people, but he was listening with great attention and no interruption, and that was more than enough.

"I'm sorry you're going through this difficult time," Percy said softly once she had finished. "And I'm sorry that I'm not going to make things easier for you."

Ginny frowned. "What do you mean?"

With a slight nudge, he steered her into a side alley that was much less crowded, probably to keep them out of range of possible eavesdroppers. It was good thinking on his part; the last thing she needed was for Rita Skeeter's quill to cash in even more on her chaos. "Look," Percy stopped and turned to face her. "I didn't approve of your relationship with Malfoy. But my feelings for the man aside, I think you were unfair to him."

" _Unfair_?" she demanded incredulously. "He believes the French were right to pass that Act."

"So do I."

The sheer shock of that admission caused her to falter, but only for a moment. Then, her anger took the reins. "How could you even say that? That law is nothing but a golden opportunity for those blood-supremacist families to torment muggles and muggle-borns."

"Ginny, please. You misunderstand me." Percy grabbed her hand and made her sit on the front steps of a closed, boarded up shop. Taking a seat next to her, he added with a sardonic shrug, "Though I should hardly be surprised. Our family has a habit of doing that."

Where in the name of Merlin's pants did that accusation come from? The need to voice that question did not come, for Percy kept on talking.

"During the war, I was wrong about a lot of things and I've apologised for that," he said. "But you all never admitted your mistakes. I was ambitious, my dream was to be _someone_ – and you all judged me and shamed me for it."

"We didn't–"

"Yes, you did," He cut in, then smiled sadly. "But that's okay. I'm used to having beliefs that are not always shared by my family."

His words unsettled her, and she wanted so desperately to disagree with him. But perhaps the way to go about this, to make him realise that he was wrong again, was to listen to his side of the story. "Why do you support the ' _Surveillance and Security Act_ '?" she asked.

"An entire family was brutally murdered by a relative of a muggle-born witch," he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The families of all muggle-born witches and wizards are informed of magic, but there is no sure-fire way to determine if they will accept our kind or hold grudges. And then there are loopholes in who gets told – cousins, uncles, aunts, guardians. Harry's, for instance. And Emily Carre's cousin."

Emily Carre had been Jeremy Chaucer's muggle-born friend at Beauxbatons, and her muggle cousin and his friends had murdered the Chaucers.

"And you think that justifies invading people's privacy?" she asked.

"It's not the cleanest solution, but it is a solution."

"It's cruel, Percy," Ginny told him. "And who is to say that certain pure-blood ideologies won't use this law to detain muggles, torment them and bend the rhetoric for political gains?"

A shadow of conflict crossed over his face, as if her question was a worry that he had pondered over and found no answer to. "Maybe we will be able to find _kinder_ ways to solve this dilemma in the future," Percy told her, "But for now, harsh measures are needed to ensure that no other family is so brutally killed."

Silence engulfed them after that; either they needed to process the conversation they had just had, or perhaps because no words they could say would change anything. Well, that was not entirely true.

Ginny was a firm believer in equality and freedom for everyone, magic or no magic. It was why she had fought against Voldemort's tyrannical movement with such passion; the Dark Wizard had wanted to rule over muggles and declare himself and his Death Eaters above others. That was wrong. It would always be wrong. And this new Act by the French Ministry of Magic would trample on the rights of people, take away their freedom and enable discrimination.

And yet, as she thought of Jeremy Chaucer, whose entire family had been murdered due to pointless hatred based on prejudice against magic, she found herself understanding Percy's point of view. She admitted, albeit reluctantly, that the law did make some sense, and yet she could not bring herself to stomach it. Trapped between a rock and a hard place – between hatred and more hatred – how was she to decide which one was lesser?

Percy placed his hand on her back, snapping her out of her morbid, conflicted thoughts. "I support the law, Ginny," he said softly. "Will you condemn me for my beliefs like you did Malfoy?"

"No. Of course not," she replied at once. Tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffed in hope of keeping them at bay. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel alienated. It was never my intention."

"I know," he said, and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, sister."

"No. Thank _you_ ," she mumbled in return, and hugged him back.

 **xx**

It was a ridiculously chilly afternoon, with strong winds and no sun in sight. Rubbing her gloved hands together in hope of more warmth, Ginny crossed the busy street and headed towards the tall building in Canary Wharf that was the main office of the Malfoy Corporation.

Her conversation with Percy had given her much to think about. For two restless nights, she pondered about her last argument with Draco; Everything they had said to each other that day in the Malfoy library played in her head over and over again, and she'd realised that nothing Draco had said that day had been truly prejudiced.

Draco was raised to believe that blood-status mattered, and for the longest time he had acted so. He was certainly posh and arrogant, but his family's beliefs had not reflected in his manner the night she had met him at that ball in France, or in the months of dating since. He had openly admitted to conducting business with the muggles, had frequented many muggle restaurants with her, and even once stated that he found football to be slightly bearable – which was saying much, considering the sport did not even come close to the thrill of Quidditch, in her opinion.

Lucius Malfoy had openly ridiculed muggle-borns and anyone who considered them to be human, but Draco did not seem to share those beliefs – at least not anymore. He did not parade around spreading hatred like his father did. On the contrary, he was haunted by the war, much like everyone else, and was working hard to leave those horrors in the past. He was constantly fighting against the values that had been instilled in him since he was a boy, he was trying to be better, which was the most important thing in her opinion.

That day in the library, he had merely stated his support for stricter laws, laws that happened not to favour muggle-borns and muggles. But that did not mean that he was not a changed man, right? Besides, when it came to this law, her own brother Percy shared the same beliefs as Draco. It felt hypocritical to forgive one for it but not the other. Since when did holding an opinion about politics become a crime?

A glimpse of very familiar blond hair brought both her thoughts and her body to a sudden halt. Draco had just walked out of the revolving doors of the building, slinging his office bag over his shoulder.

The sight of him filled her with anxiety, and she wondered if she was right to come here. He had been furious with her that day, to the point that she had been terrified, which was saying something considering she did not scare easily. What if he did not react well to seeing her now? Should she dare approach him, in the middle of the street?

She was being stupid; she'd come all this way, turning back now would be cowardly. She had to try. Summoning her Gryffindor courage, Ginny strode over and planted herself in his way. "We need to talk."

Draco stopped, clearly taken aback by her presence. Then, his body stiffened and his expression closed into an icy mask, one she knew he put on whenever he wanted to keep people at bay - and he walked past without a word.

"Draco, wait!" she called out. When he didn't even pause – stubborn git! – she hurried over so she could fall in step with him. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," he replied. "Go away."

"No." She reached out to grab his arm and he pulled away, quick as lightening. The movement did cause him to stop walking. "Listen, I–"

"This is my workplace," he hissed, glancing at their surroundings momentarily. "Do _not_ make a scene."

"I will if you give me no choice," she told him matter-of-factly. It was the reason why she'd chosen to meet him here rather than visit him at the Malfoy Manor. At his home, he could have simply thrown her out; But here, surrounded by a bunch of professional connections, his employees and a ton of muggles, Draco's sense of propriety and concern for his image would keep him restrained from acting too harshly. "Just listen to what I have to say."

"I think you've said plenty already," he said coldly, then glanced at his watch. "And I have other, more pressing appointments."

Ginny pressed her lips, finding his attitude infuriating. But she knew why he was angry, and understood that he was hoping to drive her away. That was not going to happen; she was, after all, just as stubborn as him. "Your appointments can wait."

"They really can't," he sneered and turned away.

She stepped in his way, again. "I'm not leaving until we talk."

"Fine!" Draco exclaimed with a mixture of frustration and exasperation as he marched over to a bench nearby. Taking a seat, he looked at her expectantly. "Talk."

A part of her wanted to tell him that a bench in a courtyard of London's crowded financial district was probably not the best place to hash out their relationship, but that would be just a waste of time. It was a miracle already that he had agreed to listen to her after so little pleading; she may as well get straight to the point. Only, now that she found herself facing him, she did not know where to begin.

Stalling, she went and took a seat next to him, ignoring how he moved away so there was a vacant space between them. Her eyes darted to him, while he stubbornly refused to look at her. There were slight circles underneath his eyes; a part of her wondered if it was because he had been distressed at the end of their relationship – but that was probably not the case. He was probably working too hard.

"Well?" He demanded. "I haven't got all day."

"I…" she began uncertainly. There was no point stalling any further, and any hesitance would not make this conversation easier. "I didn't mean to call you a Death Eater."

His jaw clenched. "Yes, you did."

"Alright, maybe I did," she conceded. "But you were one, and you have to own up to that."

"Have I not?" Draco turned to her then, but she could not read him. The man was too good at hiding his emotions. "If it was just my past that you were judging me on, I wouldn't have blamed you. But you meant to silence my thoughts. I will not change my beliefs to appease you, Ginevra. I am who I am."

"As am I!" she ground out.

Something flashed in Draco's eyes for a moment, then he sneered his trademark, annoying, Malfoy sneer. "Good talk."

"That being said," Ginny said quickly, "I don't want things to end between us."

He stilled at that, the emotionless mask on his face falling away to reveal confusion and contemplation, as if he had not expected her to say these words and did not know what to do with them now that she had said them. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something, but then he stood up abruptly and walked away.

That was it, then.

Ginny bit her lip and lowered her gaze in hopes of hiding the tears that had blurred her vision, which was annoying really. She had half-expected this outcome – and yet his departure had hit her harder than she had thought. Her reaction made sense, though; Draco was the first man she had allowed into her life since Harry, and she knew that once the sting of the break-up faded, she would look back at these few months of their relationship with content.

Hopefully.

 _Merlin, please, let the sting fade away,_ she prayed as she furiously wiped away her tears. It was time to collect herself and find the courage to return to her normal life.

"Damn you!"

Ginny started at the sound of the familiar voice. Draco sat down next to her, not on the far end of the bench like before, but only a few inches away. Not that it mattered, or did it? She knew not, and could only stare at him, her heart thudding anxiously in her chest.

"I don't want things to end between us either," he admitted plainly, and there was no icy barrier masking his expression or emotions anymore; he sounded very much like the man she had come to know in the past few months. "But our differences still stand."

"I know," she murmured.

"What's the point of this, then?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers as if he was searching for an answer in her that he had been unable to find in himself.

"I don't know," she told him truthfully.

He did not speak immediately after that. Instead, he leaned back slightly with a sigh, tilted his head up and closed his eyes, as if deep in thought. A minute passed. Two. Perhaps five. It wasn't a painful silence, merely an uncomfortable one – everything was hanging in the balance. "I will make you a deal, Ginevra," he said finally and turned to her. "I won't try to change you, if you promise not to try and change me."

If she truly did believe in freedom for all, then she would have to accept that others will hold opinions that went against her beliefs – she did not have to agree with them, but she had to accept their existence. "Sounds good."

The air shifted between them. The tension in Draco's posture evaporated and he reached out and clasped her hand. She blew out a breath, feeling as if a giant weight had been lifted off her chest. She did not know how long this would last or if there was any hope for them at all, she wasn't even sure if she wanted something that long-term; there were secrets between them – more on his part than hers – and yes there were differences in ideologies, but this, being beside him felt right.

"How've you been?" Draco asked softly.

"Busy," Ginny replied, eyes fixed on their intertwined fingers. "Gwenog is really drilling us at practices before the holidays begin." And rightly so. The Holyhead Harpies were slated to play against Falmouth Falcons in the first match after the break.

"Ah, yes. Christmas is around the corner," he nodded. "Any plans?"

"The usual. A nice dinner with my entire family – and Harry, of course," she told him. "What about you?"

"Oh," Draco shrugged indifferently. "My mother will be visiting. I'm sure she'll have an idea of what to do. I'm not one for Christmas cheer."

That didn't sound right. Back at Hogwarts, Draco used to boast about the lavish dinners his family used to host; there were always whispers about how he and his friends used to party hard, or vacation in an exotic country. The Malfoys were no longer as popular, but their wealth had not depleted, and they still had an intimate circle of friends. There was no reason why they'd have no celebrations anymore. Was he lying to her, then?

She was about to ask when she noticed him glance at his watch. "Your appointment?"

Draco looked at her sheepishly. "Lunch."

"It's fine," she told him, though she did not think she was ready to part with him so soon. But to voice it would be childish; they will have time later. "You should go."

He hesitated, then tugged at her hand as if he was reluctant to let it go just yet. "Come with me."

"What? I don't know–"

"Come," he insisted as he stood up, pulling her up with him. "You won't regret it. I promise."

 **xx**

The lunch turned out to be with Blaise Zabini, who was quite surprised (no doubt he knew about the breakup and hid his curiosity very well) and mildly grumpy to see her there. Apparently, these lunches were a fortnightly thing and the two friends had a rule that no one was welcome – a rule that, according to Draco, Zabini had breached a total of three times to date, so there could be no objections to Ginny's presence there. Zabini had conceded after that particular argument, albeit reluctantly.

Ginny, on the other hand, felt very out of place, not only because she was not entirely welcome but also because they were dining at a ridiculously posh restaurant in Kensington. Both the men were dressed in sleek, tailored suits and here she was, wearing ripped jeans and an oversized jumper. The stares she had received almost made her wish that she'd kept her coat on the entire time.

Swallowing her discomfort, she tried to ignore her surroundings and glanced down at the single menu card placed before her. It was to be a fancy four-course meal. _Lovely._

 _Hors d'oeuvres – Zucchini Fritters_

The conversation started with the usual small talk about work, though Ginny realised within a couple of minutes that it was not exactly small talk. The two Slytherin friends not only knew plenty about each other's work but seemed to take genuine interest in conversing about it. As the two discussed the possible causes of the blood malediction that one of Zabini's patients suffered from, Ginny wondered if she should leave. As much as she wanted to spend time with Draco after their reconciliation, she was not sure if gate-crashing his lunches was the way to do it.

"What about you, Miss Weasley?" Zabini asked.

Ginny blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "What?"

"I imagine your work must be remarkably more interesting than ours."

"In a way, yes," she replied. "But it is also more gruelling."

And so, she was sucked into the conversation, talking about her training – which soon led to a conversation about the Quidditch league, and well, it was nearly impossible to walk away from that, especially considering that the two men were a breed of typical condescending Puddlemere fans. She was obligated to stay there and defend her team.

 _Appetizer – Mushrooms stuffed with Pecorino Romano and herbs_

"Grace Fawley was, is and will always remain my one true love," Draco admitted with an unapologetic shrug. "I don't think there is a player, dead or alive, who can perform the the _Sabryn Steal_ with as much precision and elegance as her."

"It's a shame her career ended so soon," Ginny stated. Fawley had played as the star-Chaser for Puddlemere United, until she was forced to retire due to a rather horrible spine injury.

"I remember when she announced her retirement," Zabini snorted. "Drake wouldn't stop mopping. We had to practically beg him to come to the Yule Ball."

Draco shot him a look. "Might I remind you that you were equally 'moppy' because Daphne had outright refused to go with you and chosen Adrian Pucey instead."

"I never understood what she saw in him. But," Zabini waved his hand lightly, wedding band glinting on his finger. "I get the last laugh."

"Only after years of constant hard-work," the blond pointed out. "You were a disaster with girls back at Hogwarts."

"That is not true."

"You never got any girl."

"Because I only wanted Daphne."

"Liar!" Draco scoffed. "If I'm not mistaken, and I know I'm not, you even had a thing for Ginevra."

Ginny sputtered. "W-What?" There was simply no way that Blaise Zabini, arrogant arsehole extraordinaire, was infatuated with her back at school. The man was famous for looking down at everyone, even amongst Slytherins.

"I did not," Zabini sniffed in disdain, though his cheeks had coloured slightly. It was as if he knew that his face was somehow giving away his embarrassment at this sudden declaration, so he elaborated: "I was most certainly not infatuated with you, Miss Weasley, but I recognised beauty where I saw it."

"Me?" she asked, bewildered.

"Oh, don't feign ignorance. You know of the reaction you elicited in most boys at Hogwarts." The dark-skinned man reached for his wine with a shrug. "I certainly knew of the effect I had on girls. Still do."

"And you thought I was vain," Draco muttered to her dryly.

"It's not vanity," Zabini told him. "I have always prided myself on being a man of taste. Even when all the silly boys, like Drake here, would crumble to the ground at the sight of Pansy's backless dresses, I found myself appreciating more unique types of beauty."

It was vanity, she thought. Well, sort of. But there was an odd grace to it, as if he was merely stating something that he believed to be God's truth. If it worked for him, she wouldn't argue. "Thank you," she said, then made a face. "I think."

 _Main Course – Spicy Thai Basil Chicken for Ginny, Roasted Duck with Orange-Ginger Glaze for Draco, and Coq au Vin for Zabini_

Ginny was beginning to realise that Slytherins took their revenge very seriously; the revelation of Zabini's crush (but not really a crush) meant that it was almost obligatory that the dark-skinned man rebutted with an anecdote about his friend: In their fourth year, Draco lost 30 house points and spent two weeks in detention because he had managed to get into the Ravenclaw common room. When the Ravenclaws had returned from breakfast, they had found Draco lounging on the divan – legs spread out and a fake diadem conjured on his head. He'd greeted them with the words, 'Bonjour, bitches!'.

"I was making a point," Draco said, clearly torn between wanting to glare at his best friend or laugh at the memory. "Answering a riddle is the stupidest method of dorm security. I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart."

"It's a shame Professor Flitwick did not see the point," Zabini smirked.

"That little bastard made me clean the Owlery without magic. I smelled of bird shit for days!"

As Ginny watched them with great interest, she realised that a pandora's box had somehow been opened. The two friends seemed very much intent on sharing interesting stories of their student life. Not embarrassing though – they were both holding back, which made sense; they'd want to protect the other, and also themselves since she was certain that they both had plenty of humiliating, hilarious dirt on the other. She did feel that this sudden reminiscing had less to do with telling her these tales and more to do with visiting a memory lane that the two men had clearly not visited in a while. There were odd, mischievous grins on their faces, and watching that, she could not help but smile herself.

"You know," Draco told her, "Blaise does a mean Umbridge impersonation."

Apparently, a re-enactment of the fifth year's Defence Against the Dark Class was a usual occurrence in the Slytherin Common Room, where Zabini graciously performed his part as Umbridge, Pansy Parkinson played Hermione and–

"Let me guess," Ginny ventured, her eyes fixed on her boyfriend. "You were Harry?"

"Salazar, no!" Draco scoffed. "Nott was way better at portraying Potter's stupidly righteous fury. I usually sat on the side and amused the audience with my colourful commentary."

"It was _colourful_ , alright," Zabini muttered.

"I don't think Harry's fury was stupid," Ginny could not help but say. "Umbridge was a bitch."

"She was," Zabini agreed. "And all Potter had to do was write a formal application expressing dissatisfaction with the teaching methods, get it signed by as many fellow students as he could and submit it to Dumbledore and the Board of Governors."

"Would that have actually worked?"

"Probably not," Draco piped in. "But that was the way to go about protesting. Instead, the idiot made his quarrels with Umbridge all about his great destiny of fighting the Dark Lord and only fed into Fudge's insecurities."

Huh. That was an interesting take on that fiasco of a year, she mused. But she didn't think it would have worked. Cornelius Fudge and Umbridge were hell-bent on vilifying Harry at the time, and there was a very corrupt regime in the Ministry – most of them Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy – feeding lies into their heads; any formal application would have made no difference. "If only Fudge had listened to Harry at the time, I don't think things would have turned as bad as they did."

Draco hummed. "Yes, but we'd have been deprived of Blaise's brilliant impersonation skills," he said in a rather obvious attempt of steering the topic of conversation back to more lighter topics. "May I request a little glimpse, sir?"

"You may not," Zabini retorted flatly.

"Come on!"

"Drake, I said no."

Ginny pressed her lips together, amused, then decided that perhaps it was time for her to show off. " _Hem, hem."_

The reaction was abrupt. The two men looked at her, very much surprised, and then the three of them burst out laughing like lunatics.

 _Dessert – Chocolate Raspberry Souffle_

She always found it difficult to hold a conversation when there was good chocolate before her, which is why she had slowly dissolved into silence as she savoured her dessert, leaving the two men to chat.

It did give her some much-needed room to order her thoughts; in a span of a single, rather lavish meal, her entire perception of Slytherins had been challenged. On the outside they appeared to be vain, spoiled and prejudiced – though not as openly and as horribly as they once were – but it wasn't that, not entirely. The fact was that the Slytherins came from a privilege that rest of the people could not contemplate, and they certainly had a belief system and a view of the world that Ginny found hard to share.

And yet, they didn't seem all bad. They used to make fun of their teachers, they were mad about Quidditch, they liked pulling each other's legs – albeit more savagely than it was appropriate – and they were much too ambitious about their works. They were simply... _different._

 **xx**

She had never been this thankful for hot showers as she was now, Ginny mused as she watched the trembles in her fingers fade away.

While she had been lunching with Draco and Zabini, an icy storm had enveloped London in its grip, showering the city in a blanket of white as the air became unbearably crisp and the temperatures plummeted way below zero.

As a result, the Floo Network had flooded, and the queues before the large hearth in the fireplace were a nightmare. Zabini had announced that he would not wait and instead go to work on foot, which was no brave feat considering that St. Mungo's was simply across the street. Draco and her, on the other hand, had decided to be more courageous and walk to the designated Apparition Point, which happened to be a seventeen-minute walk from the restaurant. Three minutes into the walk, they had realised their mistake, but they were drenched to the bone already and there was no point in turning back.

How she wished they had!

By the time they made it to the Malfoy Manor, they were both ridiculously soaked, with their skin turning blue and their bodies shivering uncontrollably. She had wanted to light up the nearest fireplace and jump into it, but Draco had dragged her to his room, insisting that a warm shower was the cure to their ailment. They'd only gotten to his giant closet room when Yugo had popped before them and politely informed Draco that Narcissa Malfoy was on the Floo (apparently the international one was working just fine, or maybe the Malfoy Floo was more prestigious and free of error; she had no idea, nor did she want to inquire). Draco had excused himself to go speak with his mother, after giving her the blessing to shower – as if she needed it. Prat.

Which brought her to the blissfully warm shower, which was probably the only thing keeping her from dying of the cold. She dried her hair with a quick spell as she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe, only to find herself face to face with Draco. He had discarded his coat, and his wet white shirt stuck to his torso. She could see his slim, pale torso underneath and decided that it was a pleasant sight. As were his dripping, dishevelled blond hair and the pink spots on his cheek induced by the cold.

"Hey," she greeted him needlessly, which made her realise how unsettled she felt. They had only made up a few hours ago after a complicated breakup; Zabini's presence at the lunch had been a distraction to take them away from all the things that they still needed to talk about to understand exactly where they stood.

"Hi," he responded softly as he reached out towards her, then stopped, as if uncertain whether he was allowed to touch her.

Ginny stepped towards him, and asked, "Where are my clothes?"

He glanced around, noting the lack of female garments. "Yugo took them away."

"I could have dried them myself."

"And then Yugo would have killed himself," he muttered dryly. "Just let my house elf have his fun."

"While you have your fun?"

His lips curved in amusement and his gaze dropped to her lips. "Well, I wouldn't want to be presumptuous…"

"How very _wise_ of you," she cut in, leaning closer to him.

"But I wouldn't be opposed to the idea." He mirrored her movement until their lips were only an inch away, then drew away abruptly. Turning away, he sneezed violently – once, twice, thrice.

Ginny jumped in surprise, then eyed him in concern. "You should take a shower and change before you get sick," she suggested. He looked incredibly sexy in this wet state, but he would regret it very much if he stayed like this.

"I-I think you're rig–" Draco trailed off to sneeze once more, then let out a groan. " _Right_." He started towards the bathroom, his priorities clearly reshuffled, but before leaving he waved vaguely in the general direction of his gigantic closet. "Feel free to dress in something of mine; I doubt Yugo will be returning soon."

He was not wrong, Ginny mused. The elf was overly particular when it came to cleanliness; of course, Draco would have a house elf that was as much of a clean freak as him.

She opened the closet, ignored the colour-coded suits hanging neatly and went for the drawer – only to find it filled with an undoubtedly expensive collection of cufflinks. Sweet Merlin, he had a whole drawer dedicated to cufflinks! Her exasperation was not made better by the fact that the next two drawers had watches – most of them with diamonds embedded in them. The Malfoys were the epitome of elite, weren't they?

It was when she was halfway through trying her luck at the next door of the closet when she noticed the familiar stripes of green-and-silver tucked away in the lowest shelf. Curious, she knelt on the soft carpeted floor and found out that Draco Malfoy, the man who often complained about how futile sentimentality was, had kept his Slytherin Quidditch robes even after all these years.

She couldn't help but wonder why he never pursued a career in Quidditch, considering his love for the sport. Granted, he was never as good as Harry, but he had proven himself to be a decent player – and she could count on two hands the players who were chosen to play in the League and were not as well-trained as him. But then again, no one would have accepted him had he even tried; he was a disgraced Malfoy, a convicted Death Eater, after all.

Anyways, this was too good an opportunity to tease him about being a softie, and it would be even better if she had more ammunition. It was time to see what else the blond had tucked away. There was a leather duffle bag in the shelf, and she pulled it out and opened the zipper, praying desperately that it be filled with his Hogwarts essays or something.

She froze.

Neatly folded inside the bag were heavy robes that she would recognise anywhere. They were as black as death, which was an apt description considering that they were a Death Eater's robes. And top of them lay a Death Eater's mask. Matte grey in colour, it had an intricate dull silver vines circling around the snake-like eye slits, making it one of the less decorated masks worn by Voldemort's supporters.

With trembling fingers, Ginny picked up the mask. She was certain she had seen it at some point during the war but could not remember when.

Draco's mask. Draco's robes.

A remnant of his dark, dark past. She had always been aware of it, but holding it in her hands somehow made it very real. And terrifying.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Ginny was already too shocked, so the only reaction that Draco's voice elicited from her was a turn of her head. He stood a few feet away from her, with a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes wide. Her heart was madly thudding in her chest, her brain screaming at her to run – run far, far away and never come back, but instead she found herself rooted to the spot. "W-Why do you still have this?"

"Did your parents teach you no manners, Weasley?" He demanded angrily as he strode over to her, shoved the bag inside the closet and slid its door shut. "It is rude to go through people's belongings without permission."

"Why do you still have this?" She waved the mask – and then a worrying thought occurred to her. She wracked her brain, recalled as many of their conversations as she could in hopes that she was wrong, but she wasn't. Over the last six year, Voldemort's name had lost the fear it had once commanded. The nose-less bastard was nothing but a villain now: defeated, destroyed, dead. But Draco still called him the Dark Lord. Was it because of fear, or was it something far, far worse – respect? "You still call him 'Dark Lord'."

Draco froze at her words, then sat down next to her, his back against the damned closet. "Yes," he admitted and took the mask from her. He held it gently, like one would hold a child, and his thumb caressed the engraved vines – a sight she would have found revolting had she not seen how haunted and thoughtful his expression was. "I am not this anymore."

"Then why have you kept it?"

"You won't understand."

"Try me."

His mouth worked for a moment, as if he was searching for words that would explain whatever it was that he wanted to say. Then – "It's no secret that I wanted this, but it also didn't take me long to realise how terrible my side was. You don't know how I suffered, Ginevra. No one does." He caressed the mask once again. "I've wanted to burn this for so long, but I can't bring myself to."

Merlin, this was turning more complicated by the second. Ginny was curious, but she was also terrified of finding out the answer. And yet, she couldn't just walk away. She had – _they_ had come too far. "Why not?"

"I just _can't_. You don't get it. It wasn't all bad. I mean, it was, but–" He shook his head, and took a deep breath in an obvious attempt to gather his thoughts. "The Dark Lord lived in this Manor for over a year. And I was here, because I didn't go back to Hogwarts. He scared me, but he also… _inspired_ me."

She stilled, because there was nothing else that she could do, really.

Draco went on, unaware of her reaction. Or perhaps he was aware. It was hard to tell. "When I wasn't away on missions, I'd just hole up in my room or in the library, studying various subjects; I reckon it was my way of connecting with the school life that I was missing out on. T-The Dark Lord found me working on advanced Arithmancy once, and sometimes he'd sit with me and discuss history, potion-making, Herbology and even business." He hesitated then, as if he did not think continuing was wise. "Even though I knew what he was, sometimes I could not help but see him as a-a…"

"A friend?" Ginny ventured a guess, her voice calm, detached – a perfect reflection of how she felt inside. His story had triggered memories that she had buried deep within her, memories of an old, black diary and how she had poured her heart out to it, to Tom Riddle, because he had been there to hear her when no one else had.

"Yes," Draco breathed, and his eyes met hers. "He was so intelligent and–"

"Charming. Charismatic. As if he truly wanted to listen." She knew that all too well. The realisation that Draco understood that feeling too nearly knocked her breath out. Up until that day no one, sometimes not even Harry, had understood how bloody easy it had been to consider Tom Riddle a friend, how much she had cherished that friendship in her ignorance, how it had so utterly ruined her but also helped in a time when she had needed someone so very much.

"Yes." Draco frowned. "How could you possibly know that?"

She did not know how to respond to that. After spending these past few months with Draco, she had figured out that he obviously knew that she had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago, and that Tom Riddle had acted using a diary (that was the story Dumbledore had announced to the world), but he did not know how she had been the Riddle's puppet – and he most definitely did not know that Lucius Malfoy had been the one to slip that diary to her.

Should he know? Perhaps. But she did not want to tell him. It would change things between them. It would break what they had. No, in this case, his ignorance was truly a bliss.

So, she mumbled something incomprehensible that almost sounded like 'Harry', in hopes that he would assume that her knowledge of Voldemort came from her ex and not by the fact that the Dark Wizard had practically possessed her back when she was a child. The things she had done, the things Riddle had made her do, the control he had had on her for all those months – how he had told her that he would guide her, how she had written her own death note, and how he had sucked the life out of her until she was on the brink of death. Had Harry not saved her that day in the Chamber…

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, and she snuggled closer to Draco, resting her head on his bare shoulder. His skin was warm, and she welcomed the touch. So did he, for he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

The Death Eater mask was still in his other hand, though, and she eyed it warily. His sins were known to all, but there were plenty of dubious secrets that he held within him.

And yet, Ginny could not fault him for having secrets. She had some of her own.

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley had a choice to make.

It was not an easy choice. Draco's own words and actions certainly did not help his case. But what it came down to was whether she could trust him or not. As she sat there on the floor against his closet, curled up against him, she felt safe. She could find it in her heart to trust him.

So she made her choice, and decided to let the chips fall where they may.

* * *

 **There, that's the end of this chapter. I hope you liked it. Please let me know. Your reviews and feedback mean the world to me.**

 **Until next time!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello, dear readers!** **Thank you so much for the lovely feedback on the last chapter, and I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well.**

 **Disclaimer: The Wizarding World belongs to J.K Rowling. This little story belongs to me.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 15**

* * *

Ginny Weasley had looked forward to the winter holidays. The team had been training very hard for their next match, scheduled to take place in the first week of January. The idea of having a few days off was appealing; she wanted to do nothing and worry about nothing.

Yeah, that wasn't going on happen.

 **xx**

 _He bit his lip, and for a few seconds his eyes grew sad. Yet, after all, what did it matter to him? One's days were too brief to take the burden of another's errors on one's shoulders. Each man lived his own life and paid his own price for living it. The only pity was one had to pay so often for a single fault. One had to pay over and over again, indeed. In her dealings with man, destiny never closed her accounts._

Ginny sat up on her bed, nose buried in a book that Hermione had lent her weeks ago. She had been too lazy to read it initially, and now that she had picked it up on a lazy morning, she could not bring herself to put it down. ' _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ ', it was called, written by a muggle named Oscar Wilde. It was the story of a young man who traded his soul for eternal youth and she found it fascinating.

But even Mr. Wilde's captivating prose could not keep her stomach from rumbling. It was early afternoon, and she hadn't had anything since breakfast. With a sigh, she marked the page she was on, put the book down and decided to venture into the kitchen. Christmas was only four days away, her brothers and their families often popped in and out of the house and her mum always had some delicious snacks lying around.

She had reached the foot of the stairs when she heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen.

 _Draco?_

It can't be him, she mused. There was no reason why he would visit; he'd barely white-knuckled his way through the dinner she'd arranged with him and her parents.

Ginny inched towards the archway that led to the kitchen and realised with a jolt that it _was_ indeed her boyfriend, sitting at the dining table. "… there's no need," he was saying. "I don't wish to trouble you."

"Nonsense!" Molly said as she placed a steaming cup before him. She pointed her wand at the cupboard, which flew open and three jars floated out, hanging in mid-air. "Cherry, raspberry or grape?"

"Grape, please," Draco mumbled, eyeing the jars. "Did you make those yourself?"

"I did. My children love jams," Molly replied as she made quick work of smearing his chosen jam on a slice of bread. Sliding the plate towards him, she eyed him with open curiosity. "You look pale, Mr. Malfoy."

"Just tired. Been working almost day and night the last few days." He bit into the bread, his eyes widening for a moment. "This is delicious, Mrs. Weasley."

"Thank you."

The fact that Draco and her mother were behaving so civilly towards each other was something worth cheering for, but it occurred to Ginny that eavesdropping was becoming a habit of hers and that simply would not do. Straightening her jumper, she marched into the kitchen. "This is a nice surprise," she said casually.

"Ginevra," Draco moved to stand up to greet her, but she motioned him to stay seated. His sharp grey eyes did a quick onceover of her, and she found herself shuffling her feet sheepishly. She was wearing black and white flannel pajama bottoms and a red tee with an animated lion on it that was currently sleeping (Sometimes the lion would jump, other times run to the sleeves and back. One time, it wiggled its bum when she was arguing with Ron). "I see you are enjoying your time off."

"I see you're making small talk with my mother," she shot back, refusing to feel ashamed of the fact that she had been in her pajamas since her holidays had begun a couple of days ago.

"Ah, yes. She has been most kind."

"He says he has a headache," Molly stated, which for her was reason enough to be kind to a Malfoy. She did truly believe that a good cup of tea was the cure to all illnesses, after all.

Ginny's curiosity was peaked. She glanced back at her boyfriend, and asked, "What brings you to my humble abode?"

"Remember that business deal I've been working on for a while now? It's done." He told her. "I'm officially a stakeholder in the Nimbus Racing Broom Company."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You're joking?"

"It's not really something the Malfoy Corporation usually dabbles in, but I've always wanted to invest in Quidditch somehow" Draco said. "It took a little while to reach an agreement. The management was initially reluctant to allow any external input to their process. I told them that I wouldn't want to do that anyway; my company would be more interested in R&D." His lips curled into a smug smile. "Of course, there are other perks that I get to enjoy."

Ginny was genuinely happy for Draco, but she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I should have known you've come to boast."

"Oh, I did." He grinned. "Earlier today, I got an exclusive sneak peek at the much-awaited _Nimbus Prime_."

Ginny started. It had been rumoured for almost a year now that Nimbus was working on a world-class broomstick that would be far, far superior to anything else in the market. _Which Broomstick?_ had often speculated about it, but the matter had been kept hush-hush so far. That Draco had actually seen it filled her with envy – and more than that, burning curiosity. "Y-You've seen it?"

"Even better. I rode it."

Oh, sweet Merlin. "And?"

Draco blew out a breath of exhilaration. "It was _glorious."_

Knees trembling with anticipation, she lowered herself into the chair next to him. "Tell me everything."

"I could. _Or_ ," Draco paused dramatically. "I could simply show you."

She stilled. "What?"

"I'm a stakeholder," Draco shrugged. "I borrowed the Nimbus Prime. Granted, I had to make some very serious promises and sign a huge stack of confidentiality agreements – which, by the way, you are bound to as well – but I thought you'd prefer the experience yourself rather than living vicariously through mine."

With an ecstatic squeal, Ginny lunged at him, her lips crashing onto his in a passionate kiss. She found it to be ridiculously charming that he thought of her enough to arrange this, a chance to ride on a broom that was the constant talk of the town even before its release – and she made sure to express her gratitude and glee as she buried her fingers in his blond hair, holding his head in place as her tongue danced against.

" _Ginevra. Molly. Weasley_!" Molly's shrill voice thundered. She was undoubtedly impressed to hear about such a grand business deal, but that did not mean she would ever allow such behaviour in her house. "You stop that right _now_!"

Ginny pulled away instantly. Looking sheepishly at her mum, who was livid, she mumbled a quick apology. She got off Draco's lap and glanced at him, amused at how dazed he was. It had been a rather wonderful bit of snogging. "Well?" She held out her hand. "Are you going to show me the Nimbus Prime or not?"

Ten minutes later, they were standing in the back garden and Ginny was holding the most beautiful broomstick she had ever seen. It was made of matte-finish African blackwood, with a tail of fine two-shaded twigs that were apparently handpicked in Tesso Nilo, Indonesia, and then charmed to perfection by a group of expert goblins and wizards in York. The words 'Nimbus Prime' were engraved in the handle in bold, gold letters. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It is," Draco made heart eyes at the broom. "It makes the latest Firebolt look like a children's toy."

That statement only made her eager to fly. As she mounted the Nimbus Prime, a thought occurred to her: she was a professional Quidditch player and he was a Quidditch fan. It was shocking, not to mention unfair, that they had not flown together even once. With a grin, she _accio-ed_ her Firebolt and handed it to him. "Come on, then. Let's put it to test."

"Oh, no." Draco shook his head. "You go ahead. I've a headache, so–"

"Flying will cure that. Come on!" She said and kicked off the ground.

Ginny knew the second she took off that Draco was right. Nimbus Prime seemed to read her mind and take note of her body movements simultaneously. They must have added enchantments for comfort, for she felt as though she was sitting on a cushion seat, and it helped quite a lot with the balance. In no time at all she was seventy feet high in the air, causing her hair to fall into her eyes, but she flicked her head with a careless grin and saw Draco hovering by her side.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he asked.

She nodded, then pointed to a rather tall tree that stood up on the hill, some one-hundred-and-fifty meters away. "Race you to there?"

"I'll lose," he responded, declining her challenge. "But go on, test the speed. I know you want to."

"But–"

"I will watch."

"Pervert," she joked and spurred the broom forward as fast as it would go, and by Merlin, it went _fast._ This was undoubtedly the fastest broom she had ever ridden, and its speed and precision was magnificent. Determined to test the broom in every way, she dropped precipitously into a hair-raising dive, then pulled up steeply, rising and turning until the whole world was upside down. She straightened from the loop with a laugh and zoomed straight ahead like a bullet–

A scream caused her to halt.

Ginny turned her head and saw her mother, nothing but a speck from afar, running out of the house and waving madly up at the sky. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw what it was: Draco was falling to the ground.

There was no time to think.

Ginny shot forward and her surroundings blurred as she hoped to reach Draco before he hit the ground sixty feet below. The impact would most likely kill him. Why, then, hadn't he pulled out his wand and tried to stop his fall? Why did he fall in the first place?

Unfortunately, even Nimbus Prime could last so long against the natural force of gravity. It only helped her reach him with just enough time to grab hold of his hand about ten feet above the ground. He was heavy, though, and there was a sickening crack when she grasped him; breaking his fall had come at the cost of breaking his arm. But a broken bone could be fixed, so she lowered him gently to the ground and hopped off the broom to take better look at him.

Draco was unconscious. He had been during his fall, which would explain why he hadn't tried to stop it or even call for help.

"What's wrong?" Molly asked. She had made her way over to them and knelt beside her.

"I don't know," Ginny replied, shaking him lightly. His head lolled to the side and a few drops of blood started trickling from his nose. She reached out to tap his cheek lightly, then shrunk back as if stung. "His skin's burning."

"So it is," Molly, who had placed her hand upon his brow, gasped. She pulled out her wand; during the war, she'd learned some basic healing skills. A faint blue light emitted from its tip, its glow spreading over Draco for a few moments before it vanished. Whatever the spell was, it must not have worked for his nose started bleeding more profusely now. Her mother frowned and started examining him more closely.

A thud caused Ginny to jump and she turned around abruptly, only to realise that her Firebolt had crashed a few feet away from them. "I don't understand," she mumbled, her eyes moving from the broomstick to the clear sky above.

"Ginny."

"How did he fall?"

" _Ginny_ –"

"He was absolutely fine minutes ago. How'd he–"

"He's not breathing, Ginny!"

It was the wild panic in her mother's voice that made her turn her gaze back. "What?"

Molly had pulled up the sleeve of his coat and pressed her fingers against his wrist. "And there's barely any pulse." She looked up at her daughter, eyes wide in alarm. "W-We need to take him to the hospital. _Now!"_

 **xx**

What happened next was bewildering, to say the least.

They took Draco to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where Blaise Zabini had appeared before them. He listened patiently as they explained what had happened, and in less than a quarter of an hour, Ginny found herself waiting in the hallway on the fourth floor, outside a private room where Draco had been moved. Zabini was inside, along with a trainee Healer and a mediwitch, who kept on hurrying in and out but did not answer any question that Ginny directed at her.

An hour passed without any news, and she sent her mother home. Her father would be home soon, and he was terrible at fixing meals for himself. Her mother resisted of course, said she wanted to be here with her, which she appreciated very much. But really, what would be the point of it? Instead, she asked her for a favour.

"Can you take the Nimbus Prime to the Malfoy Manor?" Ginny asked. "I don't know how long he borrowed it for, and I don't want this to ruin the deal he's worked so hard to get. Tell his house-elf that it needs to be sent back to the Nimbus offices. He'll see it done."

"Of course, dear," her mum said.

And so, Ginny waited alone, her mind boggled with confusion. He'd said he had a headache. Was it because of that? And then there was Blaise Zabini; a look of worry had flashed in his eyes when she first told him about Draco, but there was no surprise in his demeanour. But then again, Healers were trained to take a rather practical approach when it came to such situations. No one would ever get healed if they started panicking.

At long last, the mediwitch and the trainee healer left the room and walked away. Zabini stepped out after them, and she jumped to her feet. "How is he?"

"His arm's fixed, but I'm afraid Draco will have to stay here for a bit," he replied. "I know you have questions, but I'm not at liberty to tell you–"

He'd said something similar when Draco had been hospitalised due to that infection months ago. Was this something similar? "I'm his girlfriend!" she protested.

"You're not his family, and he hasn't added your name to the list of people who are privy to private information if such a situation arises," he told her calmly. "I'm sorry, but there is a protocol I've to follow."

"Well, can I talk to him then?"

"He's in no condition."

"What's that supposed to…" Ginny trailed off due to the arrival of Narcissa Malfoy.

The woman had lost much of the hardness that she had once possessed, but she held her head high and moved with grace. "What happened?" she demanded.

"He collapsed," Zabini replied.

Worry flashed across her face. "Were there any warnings?"

"Not to my knowledge. It was good fortune, I suppose, that Miss Weasley was with him when it happened. She brought him here swiftly."

Narcissa Malfoy turned to Ginny with an air of surprise, as if she hadn't noticed her before. Her pale blue eyes studied her and when she spoke, her voice was as cold as her gaze. "Miss Weasley, we finally meet."

"Wait, you two have never met before?" Zabini sputtered. All of a sudden, he looked awkward, as if he would give all his precious possessions just to be far away from this situation.

Ginny ignored him. "Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted politely. For some inexplicable reason, she felt the urge to curtsey, which only left her angry with herself. She was a professional Quidditch player, for Merlin's sake! She will not be intimidated by Draco's mum.

"I must thank you for bringing my son here." Narcissa forced a smile. "But I will take it from here."

Um, what? The audacity of this woman that she was trying to _dismiss_ her, as if the world still revolved around the Malfoys. Well, she was in for a rude awakening. Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but Narcissa had already turned to Zabini.

"I'd like a detailed update on my son's condition, please," she said. "Perhaps we can talk in private?"

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," Zabini said politely, though it was obvious that he was rather surprised by what he had just witnessed. "My office, if you will." He led her away, but as he did so, he glanced back and shot Ginny an apologetic look.

Merlin. Had that just happened?

Ginny sat down once again, fuming. Draco had told her that his mother was quite disapproving of their relationship, but this was something else entirely. The sheer arrogance in Narcissa's manner – and to think that these families often claim to be the _civilised_ ones in society. At least the Weasleys had behaved somewhat decently towards Draco, even if it was only for her sake. Her cheeks burned with shame. She'd been taken off-guard once, she was never going to let it happen again.

A little while later, Narcissa returned. The veiled worry on her face disappeared the moment her eyes came to rest on Ginny. "You're still here."

"I am," Ginny replied coolly.

"I told you. You're no longer needed."

"I should remind you that I'm your son's girlfriend and not your house-elf," she shot back in a louder voice than she had intended. "You cannot wish me away whenever you feel like it!"

Narcissa blinked in surprise. "Yes, I can see that," she said dryly.

The Weasley anger was begging to come out and she wanted to just lash out at the woman before her, but it would only do more harm than good, so she took a deep breath and said in a much calmer but firm voice, "I understand you don't approve of my presence here, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm not leaving."

Those pale blue eyes observed her thoughtfully, then flickered down the hallway, which was mercifully empty at the time. No doubt, Narcissa Malfoy was as concerned about her family's reputation as her son and had no desire to become the talk of anything even remotely controversial. "Very well," she conceded, pressing her lips together in distaste. "I can't have you making a scene here." And then she walked into Draco's room.

Ginny faltered, confused as to whether she was allowed in or not. Then, it occurred to her that she did not need this woman's permission. Her desire to see Draco was much stronger than her icy relationship with his mother, so she marched through the door without another thought.

And she froze.

That can't be Draco, she thought. And yet there was no mistaking that pale blond hair and that jawline.

He looked hollow and sunken, as if half of his weight had withered away in a matter of hours. His skin was too pale, with a sickly tinge that she had seen on corpses. His body was so still that for a moment she did wonder if he had passed on, but there was a purple feather quill attached to a band around his wrist that kept on scribbling on a hovering clipboard by the bedside. She knew it was recording his vitals – a testament to the fact that he was alive, even if it was barely.

Narcissa took a seat in the chair by the bed. She grasped Draco's hand and placed a soft kiss on its back.

It was then that Ginny noticed that there were IVs attached to his arms once again. There were wires protruding from underneath his patient gown, attached to other muggle devices that kept on making annoying beeping sounds at regular intervals. Merging muggle medicine and magical ways was not very common, and she had seen its use on Draco twice now. This was not normal. "W-What's wrong with him?" she asked.

Narcissa did not answer. Instead, she said, "You should leave. The visiting hours are almost over."

"You're still here," she could not help but point out.

"I'm his mother," came the icy reply, as if that reason would appease the hospital management.

The thought of hexing this woman was so tempting, but Ginny pushed it away. It was pointless, simple as that. She did not want to leave without answers, but it seemed that there was not much she could do. She looked once again at Draco, and all her irritation at his mother flew out the window. At this moment, he was the only person who mattered. The hospital staff would take good care of him, and whatever was wrong with him, he did need his rest. Perhaps, it was best to leave for now.

Ginny slipped out of the room wordlessly, her heart heavy with worry.

 **xx**

The next day, Ginny skipped breakfast, much to her mother's dismay, and rushed to the hospital first thing in the morning. Narcissa Malfoy was nowhere in sight, mercifully. Draco appeared to be worse, if that was even possible. His skin, though still pale, was covered in a sheen of sweat and his lips were turning blue. He looked so pitifully frail that she worried a mere touch would shatter him.

She walked over to the bed and placed her hand atop his. His skin was unbearably hot. "Draco," she spoke, her voice wavering. "Can you hear me?"

There was no answer, not that she had expected one.

The door to the room opened and Blaise Zabini walked in. If he was surprised to see her, he masked it well. "Miss Weasley," he greeted her politely as he walked over to the bed. He pulled out a vial containing a bright blue potion from his pocket and injected it into one of Draco's IV bags using a syringe. "You're up early."

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't–"

"Tell me, or I'm going to beat it out of you, Zabini."

"Then I will be indisposed and thus unable to help Draco," he said nonchalantly. Clearly, the threat had not affected him in the least. "I know how difficult this situation must be for you."

"You really don't."

Zabini's eyes flickered to her as he tossed the syringe in the bin. "You're right," he conceded as he grabbed the clipboard hovering the by bedside. His brows drew into a frown as he read the numbers on it.

"What's wrong?" she couldn't help but ask.

"His fever is beyond what the human body can normally endure," Zabini told her as he pulled out his wand. "I need to protect his vital organs from damage."

It was a lengthy process. A pale orange light emitted from the tip of his wand and shot at Draco's heart. It seeped underneath his skin, and a faint glow emanated from deep within him before vanishing into nothing. The process was repeated for each of the main organs and the wand moved from his chest to torso to temple, where it took some extra time to ensure that the fever would not cause any brain damage.

Watching Zabini work with such dedication and attention to detail drained Ginny's anger towards him. He was bound by the oaths he had sworn as a healer, and he was trying his best to save his best friend's life. Perhaps it would be better to tell him what she thought rather than demand answers from him. "It's not an infection," she began slowly. "You said he had one last time, but you two were very dodgy about it. I wonder if it was a lie."

He did not seem surprised or angry. In fact, she could have sworn he looked amused. "Do you?"

"In any case, whatever ails him now seems different. And worse."

For a moment, it looked like he was going to tell her everything, but then– "The answers you seek are not mine to give, Miss Weasley."

She looked back at Draco, who hadn't moved an inch this entire time. "He looks like he's dying," she said in a small voice.

"He won't," Zabini said with such confidence that she could not help but believe him. A bit. "I'm not going to let him."

 **xx**

"Why do you keep on visiting, Miss Weasley," Narcissa Malfoy wondered out loud. Garbed in fine robes of black, with her hair knotted into a neat bun, she was sitting in the armchair next to Draco's bed.

"Draco is important to me," Ginny replied simply. It was the next day and she had just entered the hospital room.

"And apparently you to him," Narcissa stated, eyeing her from head to toe with thinly veiled distaste. "Why else would he disobey my wishes and continue this _dalliance_ with you?"

She did not bother gracing her with a reply. Instead, she took a seat on the other side of the bed and reached out to touch Draco's hand.

"Do your parents approve?"

"They don't," Ginny replied shortly. "I mean, mum might be coming around, but I'm not sure." Which was partly true. Her parents had inquired about Draco's health multiple times, but that could be because they were kind people by nature.

Narcissa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And yet you are willing to risk their disappointment for this?"

"It's my choice."

"You're a _romantic,_ Miss Weasley." It was meant as an insult.

"If I am, then so is your son."

Those pale blue eyes flashed dangerously at that. "Pity."

They dissolved into silence at that, both staring at the feeble patient on the bed, who looked nothing like the man he had been mere days ago. He was still as a statue, the rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable. For a moment, Ginny thought she saw his finger twitch, but she could not be sure; she was wishing for him to move, to wake up, to return back to normal, so it was most likely that she had imagined it. "Had there been no change at all?" she asked.

"No," Narcissa replied shortly.

"How long do they think he's going to be like this? He cannot continue–"

The rest of her words were drowned as a gut-wrenching scream tore through the room. The two women both jumped in surprise as they watched Draco, who was now thrashing in the most unnatural ways. Ginny rushed forward, grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to calm him, but he shoved her away violently.

"Draco, stop," she said, feeling utterly helpless. "Just breathe. You'll be fine. Please!"

Her pleas went unanswered. He continued to howl until his voice was hoarse and there was blood in his mouth. His hands clawed at his torso and his throat, his nails leaving raw marks on his skin as he tried to rip his own body. Alarmed, she grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away before he caused actual harm, and he fought against her like a madman.

There were other sounds now: a shrill beeping sound as the monitors attached to him went off. The purple quill was scratching madly on the clipboard, filling in sheet after sheet.

The door burst open and Blaise Zabini rushed in, followed by a mediwitch and a horrified Narcissa, who had clearly done the smarter thing and fetched help.

"Please wait outside," Zabini ordered, and the two women were quick to obey.

Mrs. Malfoy had sunk into a chair with a shaky breath and buried her face in her hands. Ginny, on the other hand, was too shaken to sit still. She paced up and down the hallway, her mind reeling. The pain Draco must have been in to scream like that… And the way he had thrashed. Merlin.

After what felt like centuries, they were let inside once again. Draco was unconscious and the mediwitch was healing the inside of his mouth and throat. There were ropes around his wrists that shackled him to the bed.

"It's for his own protection," Zabini murmured softly. He did not look happy about having to do this, but clearly saw it as a necessity.

"Thank you, Blaise." Narcissa went to sit by the bed, her face an unreadable mask. Clearly, all the Malfoys knew how to hide their emotions very well.

Ginny found the sight heart-breaking. She was horrified, but even more so, scared that it had come to this. She couldn't bring herself to move closer to the bed or run away. She did not know which of those options she actually wanted to act on, nor did she understand what was right anymore.

A gentle touch on her arm caused her to jump. It was Zabini. He looked at her consolingly, his hand a small gesture of support and comfort, and then he left.

 **xx**

It was Christmas morning.

Ginny woke up early to find the outdoors covered in a layer of thick, white snow. The sky outside was clouded and a gust of crisp air blew in when she opened the window. She took a quick shower, pulled on her dark green sweater dress and black stockings and hurried downstairs.

There was a huge stack of presents in the living room, almost as high as the sparkling Christmas tree itself, which was not surprising at all. Bill had suggested, after Victorie's constant requests, that the entire family open their presents together. Ron, who had recently returned from his honeymoon, had declared that since it was Christmas, it would be cruel to expect him to wake up early and that everyone should have a bit of a lie-in. So, it had been decided by popular vote that the entire family and Harry, of course, would come to the Burrow for brunch.

The aroma of freshly baked coffee cake lured her to the kitchen, where she found her mother whisking the batter for pancakes. She walked up behind her and gave her a hug. "Happy Christmas, mum."

Molly jumped in surprise, then let out a laugh. "Merry Christmas, dear."

"Dad still asleep?"

Her mother made a face. "I tried waking him up, but he mumbled something about electric toasters and rolled away."

It seemed that her father's obsession with muggle devices was not going away anytime soon. Even after all this time, he would corner Hermione's parents and ask them about the function of a DVD. "It's Christmas, let him enjoy his dreams a bit longer," she said lightly, then accio-ed her coat. "I'm going to visit Draco."

"Must you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Her mother hesitated for a moment, then spoke slowly, as if she was choosing her words carefully. "Like you said, it's Christmas. You can't spend the entire day in the hospital. Besides, everyone will be here soon and–"

"Don't worry, I'll be back by then," she promised before leaving.

St. Mungo's Hospital was generally emptier, not only because many of the Healers were off duty on Christmas but also because it was too early for visitors to start flooding in. There was a large tree by the reception, decorated with actual fairies and ornaments that sang carols when you passed by them. The hallways were empty of any decor, but the first thing that Ginny noticed when she stepped into Draco's room was a holly wreath hanging by the window. In its middle sat a small no-melt snowman figurine that smiled and waved at her.

The second thing that she noticed was what she thought was a true Christmas miracle: Draco was awake. He still looked terribly weak, and his limbs trembled as pain wracked through his body, but his hands were no longer tied to the bed.

She gravitated towards him and, unable to resist, leaned down to place a soft kiss on his chapped, blue lips. He moved beneath her, and then started coughing violently. Within half a minute, blood had started trickling down his nose and grunts of agony were escaping his lips. It took a mediwitch to calm him and prop his head up on a pillow so that his airway was not restricted.

"I'm so sorry," Ginny apologised for the fifth time once the mediwitch had left. She sank into the chair by the bed and touched his hand gingerly, not wanting to cause him any more pain. He might be awake now, but his fever felt as bad as ever.

He shook his head lightly, watching her with glassy eyes.

She took out a small packet wrapped in green paper with shimmering silver stars from her bag and handed it to him. "Happy Christmas, darling."

His trembling fingers fumbled with the ribbon, but it soon became apparent that he did not even have the strength to open it, so she offered to do it for him. The fact that he agreed was a testament to how weak he was; Draco was not a man who accepted help easily, after all. Still, she unwrapped it without letting her worry show on her face and placed it in his hand.

It was _How to be a Good Dark Wizard?_ – the book she had seen in Flourish and Blotts.

The corners of his lips turned up in a small, barely noticeable small. "T-Thank you," he croaked, and halfway through the first word, his voice went away. He flipped it open to read, but the way he blinked made it obvious that his vision was swimming. Lowering it shakily, he whispered, "L-Later?"

"Of course." Ginny placed the book on the bedside table and reached into her bag once again. "Besides, that was more of a joke. This is your actual present." She took out a much smaller box, wrapped in the same paper. Inside it was a Puddlemere United pin and two Top Box tickets to the quarter finals of the League, for which Puddlemere had already qualified. The team they would be playing against was yet to be decided.

Draco glanced at the box. "L-Later?"

"Sure," she put it on top of the book, slightly disappointed. She knew how big of a Puddlemere United fan he was, and she wanted to see how excited he would get after seeing the tickets. "Are you okay?"

"L-Later…" He rasped. Within a few seconds, his eyes rolled back into his skull and he went still.

"Draco?" she stood up in panic, wondering if she should call for help. Was Zabini on-duty today? Before she could reach a decision, someone spoke up behind her.

"It's alright." Narcissa Malfoy had walked in the room, carrying a steaming mug of coffee and a small paper bag with the logo of the hospital tearoom printed on it. "The healers did say that he would not be able to stay conscious for long, but that he has managed to gain it in the first place is indeed a positive sign."

"What else did they say?" Ginny asked.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Miss Weasley."

"I think you ought to stop ordering me, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You are of no use here." Narcissa marched over to stand before her, her gaze steely and her lips pressed tight in distaste. "Go, celebrate Christmas with your family and let me spend it with mine."

There was something in her voice, something hidden behind the icy exterior and the harsh words that kept Ginny from arguing. Was it envy? Perhaps. But no, it was more than that – it was loneliness. The woman's husband was in Azkaban and her only son was in hospital. The reason she was facing this with strength and stubbornness was because she had no other choice; there was no one she could lean on.

"I can stay if you want," Ginny offered kindly.

"Please, don't," came the cold reply.

Well, she did try. Nothing much left to say now. With a shrug, Ginny moved to place a soft kiss on Draco's brow. "I'll visit soon," she promised, and walked out of the room.

 **xx**

The Burrow was brimming with life – and noise! After a delicious brunch in the backyard, the entire family had filed into the living room to open presents, an activity that involved a lot of squealing from five-year-old Victorie and three-year-old Fred.

Ginny sat down at the foot of the couch, which was occupied by Harry, Ron, Hermione and Audrey, and stared at the small pile of gifts before her. Her mum had knitted her a navy jumper with a gold 'G' on its front. Fleur had baked her a box of chocolate chip muffins. Charlie got her a dragon shaped figurine that breathed fire when tugged its tail ("Great for roasting marshmallows in your bedroom," he said with a grin). Percy and Audrey had gifted her a thick book about the history of broomsticks, while George and Angelina gave her a huge box containing the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products. Ron and Hermione, who had recently returned from their honeymoon in Bali, got her a box of Chocolate Luwak. Harry gave her a beautiful handwoven scarf.

There was one small box remaining, which was odd. Hadn't she unwrapped the presents from everyone already? Oh well. With a shrug, she tore the shimmery silver paper and opened the box, only to let out a gasp. Inside was a beautiful pendant: a small, sparkling diamond and a single, white pearl nestled in a silver frame, attached to a thin, silver chain. There was a small, folded note written in a familiar neat hand:

 _Yes, I know you think this is expensive.  
No, it is not 'too much'. Just shut up and accept it.  
Merry Christmas, darling.  
– Draco Malfoy  
P.S. Look at me, coming up with counters to arguments that haven't even started yet. I blame you. _

She couldn't help but let out a small laugh as she read the last line. He must have sent it before he got sick.

Once all the presents had been opened, they headed out to the backyard once again. The sun had come out and the snow shined in its rays. Victorie and Fred hurried along to build a snowman, under the watchful eye of Molly and Fleur, which was a pretence; everyone knew that the two women merely needed some uninterrupted time to swap baking recipes. Arthur, Percy and Hermione sat at the table, deep in discussion about the latest political scandal that the Department of International Magical Cooperation was dealing with.

The others were ready to play some Quidditch, only there was a problem. "Someone will have to sit out, or it won't be even teams," Angelina pointed out. One team consisted of Bill, George and Ron, while the other had Charlie, Angelina, Audrey and Ginny.

"Where's Harry?" Bill asked.

"He's inside, talking to little Teddy Lupin over the Floo," George replied. "Which means it'll take him a while. He can talk to that kid for hours!"

"Well, I suppose we'll have to play like this, then."

"That's not fair," Ron complained. "Whichever team Ginny plays for will win. She's been training and all that."

"Have some confidence in your talent, mate." Charlie grinned.

"Actually, I don't feel like playing," Ginny spoke up. Shouts of protest broke out instantly, with most of her brothers trying to get her to join and Ron mumbling something about how three against four was still not fair. She told them multiple times that she really wasn't in the mood and would rather be a spectator, but no one was having it. Finally, she held up her hands. "Alright, alright! Why don't you all go ahead, and I'll join the game once Harry returns. It'll be even teams then."

"And we wouldn't have to listen to Ron whine, so that's a plus," Charlie joked as he hopped on his broom.

Ginny watched the six of them rise into the air, tossing a Quaffle to each other, their laughter ringing in the air. Normally, she was the first one to play but today she found herself feeling rather numb. She was there, in the middle of the Christmas festivities, and yet she felt as if she was watching all of this from far away.

It was not difficult to figure out why it was so. The absence of Fred hung in the air, as it always did on occasions such as this, but it had become but an ache over time. They all knew that he'd have wanted them all to be happy, and they all made sure to raise a glass and make a few jokes in his memory. Yet, despite the injustice of losing her brother so, her family was together, united, healthy and happy. She was blessed.

Draco was not.

Sure, the Malfoys had brought this upon themselves. She couldn't find it in her heart to feel sorry for Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy, but the thought of Draco made her tremble. He was sick, so sick that he couldn't even unwrap the present she had gotten him. And the fever and the failing organs and the screaming in agony… The worst part was that there was nothing she could do to help. Narcissa had been right to say that she was of no use there.

Unbidden, a wave of emotion crashed over her, plunging her into a feeling of despair so raw that she felt her throat clog. She'd been trying to put on a brave face these past few days, but the walls were crashing down now. Not wanting her family to see her in this state, she hurried back into the house, ran up the stairs into her room, where she broke down into tears.

A few minutes passed and then a bewildered Harry stepped into the doorway. "Ginny?" he asked as his eyes fell on her. Alarmed, he rushed in and sat down next to her on the bed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, wiping her tears frantically.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"You go on. I'll… I'll come down in a bit."

"I'm not leaving you," he said firmly, and she shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Talk to me, Gin."

"I can't," she sniffed. "Not about this."

Something flashed in his bright green eyes, and he wagered a guess. "Draco?"

The sound of his name prompted another traitorous tear to escape her eye. "It's been awful," she couldn't help but say. She had never felt this helpless in her entire life.

"Has there been no change?" Harry asked. He knew, of course. So did her entire family. They had all inquired about Draco's condition politely, except for Ron, who probably wished him a slow and painful death.

"He was awake today, for a bit. But it didn't look good," she told him. "And they still won't tell me what exactly is wrong with him."

He wrapped an arm around her to comfort her, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "Well, if he's awake then that shows progress," he supplied.

"I suppose," Ginny mumbled. They stayed like that for a short while, and she realised that her tears had stopped. She felt drained, but at least it was better than feeling miserable. Slowly, she raised her head and looked at him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You didn't have to listen to me go on about Draco," she said softly. "It must be difficult."

"It is," he said flatly. "I don't like the bloke or the fact that you're wasting your precious tears on him."

"Not wasting."

"No?"

"No," she replied with conviction. Her relationship with Draco, wherever it goes or whenever it ends, will be many things, but not a waste.

Harry nodded slowly and looked down at his hands, deep in thought. His lips curved into a small smile, though there was nothing happy about it. "Admit it," he said in a light tone, but she could detect some bitterness in it. "Things would have been much simpler if you and I were still together."

"Maybe." She knew for a fact that things would have indeed been much simpler had she been with Harry, but would they have been for the better? "There's no point in thinking about things that cannot be, though."

Her response seemed to anger him. "Why do you say that?" he demanded. "Like-like there's no hope for us."

Ginny frowned. After all this time, he couldn't possibly be still confused about where they stood. "I'm with Draco," she said matter-of-factly.

"For reasons I'll never understand–"

"You don't have to understand. But you _need_ to accept it."

"How can I?" He jumped to his feet and started pacing restlessly, as if he needed to move to keep himself from bashing something. As he spoke, his voice steadily grew louder, reminding her of the fact that it wasn't just the Weasley temper that was dangerous. The Potter anger could be equally frightening. "Draco Malfoy, the git who made our lives miserable at Hogwarts, bullied your brother, bullied Hermione, said awful things about your family – and that's _before_ he became a Death Eater."

"I know all that," she snapped impatiently. Ever since her relationship with Draco had come into the light, she'd heard this very list at least a few dozen times by different members of her family. It was infuriating. Could they not understand that she wasn't some foolish, lovesick girl who had walked into this blind?

"Do you, now?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Has he even told you about his missions? About all the things he did for Voldemort?"

He had not, but that was not the point. "You defended him at his trial."

"Because he didn't deserve to go to Azkaban." He waved a hand carelessly. "That doesn't mean it's alright to hop into his bed–"

"You're being a hypocrite, Harry!" Ginny hissed angrily as she stood up, trying her best not to give into the temptation of pulling out her wand and hexing him.

"Fine!" he roared, holding up his hands as if in defeat. "I mean, you _clearly_ know what's best for you. And even if you don't, you're still going to do damn well as you please!"

"Damn right, I am!" she shot back. "You don't get to decide how I should live my life."

"Not decide. Expect," Harry corrected her. "After everything we've been through, I _expected_ that you would at least _consider_ trying again." Those words seem to deflate his anger in an instant, and he reached out and grabbed her hands in his. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, pleading. "Every relationship has its problems, Gin. You and I, we decided to run away rather than face them. If we try again, I know we can make it work."

"Easier said than done," she whispered shakily. Something in his tone had evaporated her fury as well; she understood his pain all too well, and that she was the cause of it filled her with guilt.

"Nobody said it'll be easy. But you and I, we're too brave to let that scare us away." He took a step closer to her. "I still love you, Ginny."

"I know you do. And a part of me loves you, but–"

"No 'but'."

For a moment, she wanted to stop talking, but it would be cruel to lie to him. "But we cannot get back together." He looked like he was about to protest, so she went on, her own voice kind and pleading, hoping that he would understand. "Harry, ending our relationship shattered me in ways I can't even explain. Every morning I'd wake up and you wouldn't be by my side and I struggled to get out of bed, to eat, to breathe, to–" Ginny broke up, all of a sudden haunted by all the memories of her and Harry together, of the flat they shared, of the life they had lived for years before it all went to shit. It had been so unbearably difficult to pick up the pieces afterwards; it had taken an all-consuming dive into her career and a certain aristocratic blond git who had sprung up on her in the most unexpected way to heal her, if a bit. "I cannot risk my heart again. It'll kill me." Gently, she placed her hands on his cheeks, her eyes boring into his. "I can be very brave, Harry, but I'm not this brave."

Silence followed her words, but neither of them looked away. Then, Harry kissed her. It was soft, slow, and reminded her of lazy mornings in bed and long baths and solemn promises that no longer mattered. He pulled away, his face reflecting an ebbing hope that he was desperately trying to hold on to. "Together or not, you can always come talk to me, Gin," he said finally. "You shouldn't cry alone."

If anyone had been watching them, they would say that Harry was much more in control of himself now, but she could tell that he had put on a mask. It pained her that he had to do this before her, but had she not just asked him to do so? "I know."

He cleared his throat, then glanced out the window where Charlie was trying to snatch the Quaffle from Ron. "We should head out," he said. "Join the game."

"Yes." She glanced in the mirror and quickly wiped her cheeks. Her eyes were a bit red, but hopefully no one will notice once she's up in the air. "Let's."

 **xx**

"What do you mean he's gone?" Ginny demanded, glaring at Blaise Zabini.

"I mean exactly what those words mean," Zabini retorted impatiently as he moved past her and started down the hallway, a clipboard in hand. "Draco is gone."

"But how?" she asked as she hurried to keep up with him. It was the morning after Christmas and she'd decided to visit Draco, only to find no sign of him in the hospital room. "He was in no condition to be discharged."

"Narcissa–Mrs. Malfoy moved him last night, said it would be too dreary if Draco spends the rest of the holidays in hospital," he told her. "Rest assured, he will be provided with the best, round-the-clock healing care. She and I have made sure of that."

"So, he's at the Manor?"

"Not to my knowledge," Zabini stopped. "I was off-duty yesterday. I'm supposed to be off-duty today too, but here I am, much to the dismay of my wife, but I have a patient that I need to tend to right away."

"I won't keep you, then."

"He'll get in touch, don't worry," He started to walk away once again. "Good day, Miss Weasley."

Ginny had gone to the Malfoy Manor anyway, and sure enough, Yugo had told her that no one was home. She'd checked herself in case the house-elf was lying but evidently, he was not. She'd even swung by the Malfoy Corporation, where Greta told her that Draco hadn't been in office for days and was expected to return after New Year's.

The next few days were hell.

She had no idea where Draco was and there was no word from him. She wasn't sure if she could blame him though; he was terribly sick, or he had been the last she saw him, but what his condition was now she could not tell. If he was sick, then getting in touch would have been the last thing on his mind. And there were more chances of Hermione setting fire to libraries than of Narcissa writing to update her about Draco's health. And if he was no longer sick and was not writing to her, well then he will die at her hands.

So, she remained in the dark, going insane with worry. She visited St. Mungo's again, only to find out that Zabini had travelled abroad as well. How convenient. So, she sent Draco letters (and a rather colourful howler) and waited.

It was on the thirtieth of December that she returned to her room after a long walk and found a majestic eagle owl that she recognised immediately sitting on her windowsill. He hooted in his usual patronising way when she relieved him of the envelope tied to his leg, and then flew away.

Ginny was too distracted to call the bird a git, like she always did. Instead, she tore open the envelope. A folded parchment, a midnight-blue card and a pin with an orchid on it fell out. Frowning, she picked up the pin, then the card, which was written in French. But as she watched, the golden letters rearranged themselves in English:

 _Miss Ginevra Weasley,  
You're cordially invited to the  
Lefebvre New Year's Eve Ball  
Saturday, 31_ _st_ _December  
Seven o'clock  
Château d'Orchidée_

 _The enclosed pin is a Portkey that will bring you to the Sierra Hotel, Paris, where a room has been booked in your name.  
Arrangements to bring you to the Château d'Orchidée have also been made.  
The Portkey will leave at two o'clock on the 31_ _st_ _December._

She raised an eyebrow. A ball? Well, she'd worry about that later. Putting aside the card and the pin, she picked up the folded parchment, which was – her heart thudded madly – written by Draco himself. The usually neat, slanted writing was shaky this time, as if it was either written in a hurry or in pain.

 _Ginevra,  
I apologise for disappearing so abruptly, but I am better now.  
I know you have many questions, and I think the time has come for you know the answers.  
Come to the ball and we will talk. I promise.  
– Draco Malfoy_

 **xx**

Ginny Weasley had looked forward to the winter holidays.

Instead, she had seen her boyfriend close to death because of a mystery illness. She had broken Harry's heart, though she did feel that conversation had been a necessary one. And she had spent days going mad with worry, only to end up with an invitation to a bloody ball.

Well, she was going to attend, there was no question about that. She needed to see Draco, and she very much needed some answers.

* * *

 **Leave a review and please do let me know what you thought about the chapter. Your feedback means the world to me!**

 **I've planned the next chapter and I'll be getting started on it right away. Hopefully, it should be out soon.** **In the meantime, I know how frightening the situation has been globally due to COVID-19. Let us stay optimistic. Please, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Take the necessary precautions and stay safe.**

 **Until next time!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello, my wonderful readers!**

 **I'm back with yet another chapter. This pandemic situation has left me at home with not much to do, so I decided to write, and this chapter certainly seemed to write itself! I had planned something and well, it took a life of its own.**

 **I hope you all like it. Please do leave a review and let me know.**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling. This fanfiction belongs to me.**

* * *

 **WILFULLY: CHAPTER 16**

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a man of many secrets.

Secrets he had guarded deep inside his heart, secrets that would ruin him if they ever came out. And Ginevra was asking for a glimpse into them. But could he trust her enough to allow that?

He did not know.

 **xx**

Even though it had been claimed that the night would be celebrated in relative solidarity because of the recent tragedy that had befallen the French magical community, it was obvious that the Lefebvre had spared very little expense in arranging the New Year's Ball.

Yes, the usual twelve-feet tall ice sculpture of the dancing mermaid and the wine fountain with faeries was missing, but the ballroom of Château d'Orchidée looked as grand as ever. Crystal chandeliers spiralled down from the arching ceiling, painted with an abstract mural in matte gold and navy. That was the decoration theme this year, an obvious departure from the bright and sparkling shades that the family usually opted for. Instead of the usual full orchestra, the famous Starlight String Quartet sat in a corner, playing classic tunes that were partially drowned by the chitter-chatter of some two hundred and fifty guests, half the number that were usually invited. Golden trays floated about the ballroom, laden with flutes of champagne and various hors d'oeuvres.

A disgruntled Draco made his way through small groups of people, keeping his gaze fixed on the finely polished floor so as not to attract conversation. He had just escaped a rather cold but forcibly polite encounter with Lukas and his group of friends. Things had been frosty between the two distant cousins since their last argument - Which was fine, really. He had never liked Lukas much, anyway.

Draco spotted Blaise Zabini standing alone not far away and hurried over to him. "Bastard!"

"I know my father often refers to my mother as 'the harlot', but I can assure you that they were married when I was born." Blaise sniffed in disdain.

"Not you. Lukas."

"Oh. He might be. We'd have to look into it." He eyed Draco with the critical gaze of a healer and not a friend. "You alright, mate?"

"Bite me," he snapped. He was fine, really, and could do without some mothering for one night. Truth was, he would have loved to play the 'bad health' card to avoid coming to this ball, but no one here knew that he had been unwell, and he wanted very much to keep it that way. Besides, it was imperative that he socialised with people of import, so as to keep the Malfoy name ringing in the right circles.

Blaise, who had taken his rude response as an indication that he was indeed alright, picked up a smoked salmon canape from a passing by tray and plopped it into his mouth. "Will Miss Weasley be joining us tonight?"

Draco glanced at his watch. Quarter past seven. "I hope so."

"She was quite concerned about you."

"Yes, mother mentioned that." His mother had also mentioned that Ginevra was impertinent and perversely headstrong, but he did not think Blaise needed to know that.

Apparently, he already did. "They did not get along," the dark-skinned man snorted. "How come you hadn't formally introduced your girlfriend to your mother after all these months of dating?"

Three-and-a-half months of dating, he wanted to correct, but getting technical with Blaise never ended well. The wanker knew how to respond in a similar tone all too well. "There was never a right time," he said instead.

"Trust me, the way they met wasn't _right_ either," Blaise said dryly. "If it wasn't for their concern for you, they would have surely duelled right there in the corridor. On the plus side, carrying them to the Janus Thickey Ward would have taken no time at all."

"Cheers." Draco glanced gloomily at his mother, who was currently talking to Lady Océane Maret, the editor-in-chief of _Le Cri de la Gargouille._

Once he had recovered enough to hold a conversation, Draco and his mother had ended up having a row over Ginevra. His mother had stated that he had exhibited poor taste in choosing a companion. He had retorted that she was allowing her past prejudices to cloud her judgment. To which she had replied that even a blind man could see that a Weasley was not fit for a man of his station. He had reminded her that he no longer had any station because of the decisions she and his father had made.

It was the first time they'd had a proper fight in years, and it had ended only when Draco attempted to storm out in anger and ended up fainting in the veranda. He knew that the truce was temporary, and the subject of his girlfriend was bound to come up again sooner than later, but he also knew that it would be a futile quarrel. His mother was a rigid woman, and he was her son in every way. It was unlikely that either of them would back off. He hoped she would, though; he loved his mother dearly and would do anything for her, but Ginevra made him happy.

Whether that happiness would last, was another matter entirely. There were questions that Ginevra would ask now. Answers that he would be bound to give, if he wanted to keep her. And chances were that she would not stick around after that. He could not see how she'd want to…

"Why are you dissecting my relationship," Draco began in an attempt to distract himself from the abyss of his thoughts, "Instead of paying some attention to your own wife?"

"My dear wife is occupied." Blaise nodded grimly at Daphne. She stood by the hearth, chatting amicably with a man with greying hair, wrinkly face and a gigantic moustache, who was leering at her low-cut gown in a not-at-all subtle way.

"Old colleague, I presume?" Daphne had left Hogwarts after their sixth year and transferred to Beauxbatons. After that, she worked for the French Ministry of Magic for a year before moving back to Britain.

" _Old_ , yes. Look at his moustache!"

"Just because you can't grow one, mate."

"Hilarious," Blaise snapped, still glaring daggers at the man. "Pretentious bugger."

"I'm sure he thinks the same about you." Draco said matter-of-factly. If anyone was to create an award called the Order of Pretentiousness, Zabini would most certainly win it. First Class.

Blaise shrugged indifferently. "At least I'm not a lecherous git."

"That's because you get to shag Daphne."

"Of course, I do. She's my wife."

Draco refrained from boasting about how he had had a large part to play in that particular outcome. No doubt, his best mate would not appreciate being reminded of the fact that his had been one of the most hopeless love stories for a very long time. "Why don't you go stand next to her, then? Remind that 'lecherous man' that she's taken."

"I should." Blaise straightened his jacket. "I will."

Draco watched with some amusement as Blaise sauntered over to Daphne and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. She continued to talk passionately, but learned into his touch. The movement was barely noticeable, but it seemed to come naturally, without thought. The moustached man must have noticed it too, for though he kept on nodding politely in response to her words, his shoulders did drop a bit.

Who'd have thought that Blaise Zabini, vain wanker extraordinaire, would be jealous of another man?

You learn new things every day, Draco mused as he turn on the spot – and froze.

Some fifteen feet away from him stood Ginevra Weasley, garbed in a plain black gown with full sleeves that hugged her torso like a corset would and then flared into voluminous skirts below the waist. The only part of her skin that was visible was above her sweetheart neckline; he could not understand how a dress could be so chaste and yet make the wearer look so unbelievably sexy.

Their eyes met and she faltered. Her lips, painted blood red, curved into a smile.

It was as if he was put under a Veela spell. He had no control over his body and no thought in his mind except her. His feet sprang into action on their own accord and carried him to her. Up close, he noticed that she wore no accessories, only the pendant that he had sent to her as a Christmas gift, the tiny diamond glinting in warm light. That she had put it on was a good sign.

"Ginevra–" he began, but that was all he could say before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her close, running his hands over the soft silk of her gown.

"You're alright," she murmured, her breath hot on his ear. Her voice was laden in relief, and he was touched by the sentiment behind it.

"Yes," he said, and glanced around nervously. A few of the guests nearby had paused their conversations to stare. He was well-known in this circle, so no doubt people were hungry to sate their curiosity. The two of them greeting each other with an emotional embrace like they'd been reunited after a battle was certainly something that would spark gossip. "No one here knows of my illness," he whispered quickly. "You mustn't mention it."

She pulled away at that. "But you promised–"

"Yes." He had promised her answers, and by Salazar, he was going to give them to her, even if it cost him everything. "Later."

She eyed him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright."

With a smile, he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "I'm glad you're here."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not that easy to woo?" She tried to sound miffed, but her cheeks had gone pink.

"My experience shows otherwise."

She smacked his arm lightly. "Are you calling me easy?"

"My dear Ginevra," he said. "If there is one thing you most certainly are not, it is easy."

Her eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to gauge whether he was complimenting her or insulting her. Then, she simply turned away and grabbed a glass of champagne from the floating tray. "Where did you spend your holidays?" she asked casually. The important questions would have to wait, but she was not going to give up the interrogation entirely.

"At my mother's villa in Tuscany," he replied. "I'd have preferred staying in London, though I will admit that the country air was refreshing."

"Hmm." In the midst of observing the ballroom, her gaze flitted to him, but it was difficult to tell whether it was to gauge his honesty or because she simply wanted to look at him.

"You're wearing the pendant I gave you," Draco couldn't help but state. "So, you cannot possibly be as angry as you're trying to seem."

"Would you rather I take it off and throw it in your face?"

"I'd rather you smile at me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I am – what was it that you once called me? Ah yes – ' _your git_ '."

"You got the git part right," Ginevra mumbled, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. She raised her fingers to touch the pendant resting at the base of her throat. "Thank you for this, by the way. It is precious."

"I was going to use that term for you, darling."

She snorted at that. "My, my, someone is leaving no stone unturned tonight."

"It's been a while since I've flirted."

"So, you're exercising your muscles on me?"

There was a bawdy joke in there somewhere, but he decided that it would be best if he not voice it. "Well, it's you or a friend of my grand-mère." Draco pointed towards a white-haired witch with large, gold-rimmed spectacles and a hat with a stuffed nightingale. "She always caresses my bottom under the guise of a hug, so I'm guessing she might be interested."

"You should be flattered."

"Why?"

"Don't men like older women?"

"Older, yes. But I do draw the line at ancient," he said dryly. "Doris was, in all fairness, a beauty back in her day."

" _Doris_?" She was trying to hold back her laughter and failing superbly at it.

He tried to shoot her a look but could not bring himself to feel indignant at all. Her eyes were twinkling with mirth and her cheeks were pink. She hadn't tied her hair but allowed it to fall straight on her back, just the way he liked it the most. "Are you finally smiling at me, Miss Weasley?"

"I'm laughing at you, but close enough," she replied cheekily.

Draco would have continued with the banter, but he was distracted by a sudden hush that had fallen over the crowd. Frowning, he turned and saw Edmond Lefebvre, his great uncle and the second most-powerful man in wizarding France, welcome a pale, teenaged boy, who looked like he would give anything to not be here.

"Is that…?" Ginevra began.

"Jeremy Chaucer," He answered grimly.

Jeremy Chaucer's tale had been the headline of every wizarding newspaper (and a few muggle ones, though the details were varied due to obvious reasons) for weeks now. Back in November, when Jeremy had been attending classes at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, a group of three muggles had broken into the Chaucer family home and murdered his parents, his older brother and his two younger sisters. The murderers had left a message, too, written in blood on the living room wall: ' _Death to Magical Freaks_ '.

Though it was not common knowledge yet, Draco had been told by Edmond that the one of the killers, Samuel Carre, was actually the cousin of Jeremy's muggleborn best friend and classmate, Emily Carre. That was how they had found out the Chaucer's residence.

Edmond was making a speech now, and the entire ballroom was holding onto each word. It reminded Draco of Potions classes with Snape back at Hogwarts.

A slight nudge in his ribs caused him to look at Ginevra. "What's he saying?" she whispered.

Oh. It hadn't even occurred to Draco that Edmond was speaking in French. His parents had ensured that he started learning the language very early on, and with so many French relations to practice with, it came naturally to him at this point. In fact, sometimes, if he stayed too long in France, he found himself thinking in the local language.

Ginevra elbowed him again, this time a bit harder, and he got to work. "He's telling Chaucer how sorry we all are for his terrible loss," he translated for her in a hushed whisper. "Everyone here is willing to provide him with any support that he may need… We're his family now – I doubt Chaucer would want that twat Lukas as a family member. One time, when we were little, Lukas stole my robes and–"

"Focus," she hissed.

"As horrible as the loss is, we should all try to move on… His family would've wanted him to be happy – Easier said than done – He's assuring him that the murder of his family will not go unpunished… They will make an example of the killers… make sure that no _Non-Magique_ will ever dare threaten us again…" Draco hesitated, unsure if he should continue. Ginevra had expressed her extreme dislike for the _Security and Surveillance Act_ that the French Ministry had passed, so much so that she'd ended things with him over it. Sort of. "He's talking about the Act that you hate, about how it'll help protect wizards and witches… prevent such atrocities from ever taking place again. You get the gist."

"Yes, I do," Ginevra stated coolly. "It's cruel to invite the poor boy to a ball and put him through this."

Draco didn't say anything. He felt sorry for the boy but could not help but admit that inviting him was a good political move on Edmond's part. Tragedy always sparked emotions; Jeremy Chaucer was inevitably going to become a figure that could fuel some massive change in how the magical world is run – most certainly in France and maybe, if the cards were played right, in neighbouring countries as well. Whoever controlled him would be able to control the discourse that was to come.

And it would not be very hard to control Jeremy Chaucer. He was a sixteen-year-old boy who had lost everything and would do anything not to feel any more pain. Draco knew all too well what that felt like, and he knew how easy it was to take advantage of that.

One sweeping glance of the ballroom showed that Edmond's speech was having the desired impact. And when Edmond proposed a toast to Jeremy Chaucer and his bravery, there was not a single person in the ballroom who did not raise his or her glass.

The only silver lining was that dinner was announced right after, and guests made their way to the adjoining hall where about twenty round tables were set with gleaming golden plates and cutlery. Draco and Ginevra were shuffling inside when Edmond came over and graciously invited them to dine with him at the Head Table.

As they made their way towards the table, they saw Edmond lead Jeremy Chaucer over from the other side. It was not at all surprising, Draco mused as they took their seats, that all the people sitting at this table held power in one way or the other. There was Edmond, the politician. Chaucer, the pawn. Draco, the businessman. Ginevra, the Quidditch star. Luc Bonnaccord, the French Minister for Magic and his wife. Marc Pascal, one of the wealthiest businessmen in France, and his wife Lucile Du Toit, who was the Head of the Bureau de la Justice Magique. And Doris Costeau, his grandmother's friend whom he had pointed out earlier; he knew for a fact that she held great influence at the International Confederation of Wizards.

Draco noticed with some glee that Lukas, Edmond's own son, was not deemed important enough to warrant a seat at the Head Table. The git was sitting at the far-end of the hall with his friends, deep in conversation. He spotted Blaise and Daphne nearby, their fingers intertwined; the moustached man was nowhere in sight. His mother was sitting at the same table, still chatting with the Lady Maret.

Small talk had erupted around their table, and Draco dutifully introduced Ginevra, but soon everyone's attention was fixed on the navy cards resting on each of the empty plates. Gold writing had appeared on each of them, listing the menu for the night.

He picked up his card, wondering what he would like to have. The fish seemed good: _Filet de sole poché, garni d'une purée de champignons et enrobé d'une sauce au fromage_. And then it occurred to him that the menu was in French.

Though he'd charmed Ginevra's invitation to rearrange itself into English, he doubted very much that the menu could do the same. He glanced to his right and, sure enough, she was frowning at the foreign words. And she was too hard-headed to ask for help.

He wondered what she was going to do. Probably order blindly, but wouldn't that be awful, to sit with what she believed were conceited people and pretend to stomach food that she may or may not like? Besides, she was looking unbelievably attractive this evening, so much so that every time his eyes wandered over to her (which was happening quite often, he'd noticed) he felt a silly jolty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It would be best to put her out of her misery.

"The second dish," he said to her. "You'll like it."

 _Boeuf Bourguignon_ _  
Ragoût de boeuf préparé au vin rouge, avec bacon, oignons et champignons_

Ginevra's frown only deepened. She glanced around the table, where half the people had already ordered their food, and back at the menu. It took him half a minute to realise what the problem was. Stifling a laugh, he leaned sideways and whispered the correct pronunciation into her ear. Once, twice, even more slowly, enunciating every syllable, then pulled back to place a soft kiss on her pink cheek. Salazar, she was the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

"Monsieur Malfoy," Doris Costeau began slyly, her eyes twinkling. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" _What are you doing?_

Draco straightened up quick as lightning. "Rien du tout," he replied, then quickly read the name of his dish off the menu. It appeared instantly on his plate, and he noted with pride that so had Ginevra's. She had done the wise thing of whispering it loudly rather than speaking it loudly.

"It did not look like nothing," Lucile Du Toit teased. A tall woman with a beak-like nose and a surprisingly soft voice, she was an old friend of his mother's.

Doris fanned her face and let out a blissful sigh. "Ah, être amoureux!" _Ah, to be in love._

"I'm not," Draco replied instantly, firmly. "Nous ne sommes pas." _We are not._ And it was true. He had no doubt that he cared for her very much, but it was not love. And she wasn't in love with him either.

The women did not seem to believe him, and Du Toit said, "Tu fais un joli couple." _You make a lovely couple._

"Merci," he mumbled and dug into his meal, which was delicious.

Across from him, Edmond and Bonnaccord were deep in conversation about the renovations of the Bureau des Accidents et Catastrophes Magiques and how some employees were not at all cooperating when it came to the new policy of having a standard office cubicle; one particular employee really liked having a pool next to his filing cabinet.

To his right, Ginevra was telling Doris about her career. Mrs. Bonnaccord had engaged Du Toit and Mr. Pascal in a passionate discussion about how the closure of Leclère Robes would deprive the French wizarding class of the finest handmade lace-hem robes. Surely, the Ministry could convince Gringotts to lend the owner some more gold?

"You are Monsieur Malfoy?" A timid voice to his left spoke up. "Draco Malfoy?"

Somehow Jeremy Chaucer had ended up sitting next to him. Up close, the teenaged boy looked even more pale, with big hazel eyes and light freckles. "That is my name," Draco answered politely.

Something flashed across the boy's face, a recognition of sorts, but he could not quite decipher it. "It iz an 'onor to meet you, Monsieur Malfoy," he said, his voice laden with something that sounded a lot like awe.

Draco frowned. "Forgive me, but how do you know me?"

"I know of you." Chaucer looked around the table, where a couple of people were clearly listening to the conversation. It was the first time he had spoken up of his own accord, after all. He turned back to him, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "I read Ze Practical Potioneer."

"Ah," Draco said. The scholarly journal had published an article written by him over a year ago, an achievement that he was quite proud of. "So, you like potions?"

He nodded but did not speak any further, clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the others, which was getting rather obvious now.

Every now and then, Draco felt the boy glance towards him but every time he looked back, he was looking away. Maybe he had imagined it. Still, as he chatted amicably with Ginevra and Doris over dessert, he could not shake the feeling that there was something more that the boy had wanted to say to him.

The matter completely evaporated from his mind by the time he and Ginevra made their way back to the ballroom, where the quartet was playing a lively tune and some of the younger couples had already made their way to the huge dance floor in the center. Small tables had been erected in the very back for people who wished to sit and converse, though most of the spectators chose to stand on the sides and enjoy a clearer view of the dancing. Trays floated around once again, this time laden with a wider variety of drinks.

His mother stopped by them briefly, and she and Ginevra greeted each other with such icy politeness and forced smiles that he felt that Blaise had grossly understated how horrible their meetings at St. Mungo's had been. Still, as he watched his mother glide away to speak to a few of her old acquaintances, he felt that this was a matter that he would have to work on tactfully. Perhaps, over time, the two women would come to be civil to each other.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" he asked as he picked up a glass of scotch from a floating tray.

Ginevra, who was trying to decide between champagne and red wine, glanced sideways at him with. "You didn't."

"Forgive me, then."

"I will, once you actually compliment me."

He laughed. "You look radiant, darling."

"You don't look so bad yourself, mister."

"Don't I always?"

She rolled her eyes, but did not say anything.

"By the way, I never thanked you for the tickets," he said. Once he had recovered a bit, he'd had a chance to go through the Christmas gifts she had left for him in the hospital, and he'd been extremely pleased to find two tickets for the quarter-finals that Puddlemere United had qualified for. His favourite team was in excellent form this year, and he would not be surprised if they actually won the League. They will, they had to! "Of course, the book was a far precious present."

' _How to Be A Good Dark Wizard?'_ had indeed been an interesting read. A small, satirical volume, it made fun of swishing black cloaks, discouraged the reader from making pompous speeches and just get on with the villany, and continuously warned against attacking babies in cribs ( _"You don't have to kill the baby. You can just not change its nappies. Poo will attract the rats, and rats will start the Plague. So, instead of killing_ one _annoying baby, you would be killing at least a few thousand until some hero decides to invent a cure. If only Lord Voldemort had played the long game, we would be living in much murkier times now. But he overlooked the power of baby poo, and one can't blame him. He couldn't smell it, being nose-less and all that. Lucky bastard."_ ).

Ginevra grinned. "I hope you'll learn something."

"It is showing me the ropes," he joked, then glancing at the dance floor, asked, "Do you dance?"

"Not like this," she replied. He assumed ' _this'_ meant formal ballroom dancing; a waltz had started now. "My dancing is what you saw at Ron and Hermione's wedding."

"I'd ask you to dance, but I do not have the strength." There was bitterness in his voice, even though he had tried to control it.

At once, her gaze snapped to him, full of concern, and her voice dropped to a low whisper. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No. Just… not up to dancing yet." He smiled apologetically at her. "It's absolutely norm–"

A hand wrapped around Draco's arm and whirled him, so that he was looking into the familiar bright blue eyes of Daphne Greengrass-Zabini. She stepped closer to him until their noses were practically touching, and hissed, "Tell your best friend to behave."

"If you couldn't put a leash on him, no one can," Draco responded, completely unperturbed. Daphne had a habit of forgetting the importance of personal space whenever she was irritated.

"He's behaving like an over-possessive prick."

Blaise, who had walked up behind his wife, looked utterly exasperated. "I only said that it is possible to hold a conversation with a woman whilst looking into her eyes. I don't know why that harmless comment offended Mr. Bennett," he shrugged, then nodded politely at Ginevra. "Hello, Miss Weasley."

As if realising that there was someone else witnessing their conversation as well, Daphne turned to Ginevra with a bright smile. "Miss Weasley, it's so nice to finally meet you." As the two women shook hands, she asked, "Tell me, what would you do if Draco insinuated that you are a wanton harlot?"

"I _never_ insinuated that–" Zabini's outcry was drowned in Ginevra's straightforward reply:

"There would be eagle-sized bats flying out of his nostrils for a week. But I think Draco knows better than to say something like that to me, don't you, darling?"

Daphne eyed the redhead appreciatively. "I like you," she said, and Draco knew that it was no small feat to impress her so easily. "See?" she turned to her husband. "Bats out of the nostrils! Is that what you want me to do to you?"

"I was only concerned that Mr. Bennett's lecherous gaze might make you uncomfortable, love," Blaise said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I was counting on his gaze!" Daphne jerked her head carelessly, her shoulder-length golden hair bobbing as she did so. "I learnt long ago not to let unwanted male attention hinder me. In fact, a testosterone-addled brain can prove very advantageous at times." She ran her palms over the front of her dress, where the curve of her breasts was quite visible from the low-cut neckline. "Besides, I can't help it if I have beautiful breasts."

Draco's gaze flickered down for a moment. "They are indeed beautiful," he conceded. And upon noticing Zabini's glare and Ginevra's frown, hurried to elaborate: "I mean that in a completely objective, factual way."

"Thank you," Daphne caressed his cheek, then turned to her husband. "Now, if staring blatantly at my chest means that Mr. Bennett will aid the International Office of Law in an ongoing case, then I'm going to let him. And if you do not cause any hindrance, I might let you do _more_ later tonight."

"Gross," Draco muttered.

In an instant, Blaise's irritation vanished. His wife, who already knew that she had won, swept away towards the same moustached man from earlier. Blaise straightened his jacket. "Well, that settles it then." And he followed her.

"They are… _unique_ ," Ginevra stated once he had left, her voice somewhere between incredulity and amusement.

"You don't know the half of it." He turned to look at her, and a sense of doom descended over him. The dinner, the dances, conversations with friends and strangers could only provide so much distraction. How much longer would he be able to put off the inevitable? She wanted answers, and he had promised to give them to her. Even though he did not want to. Every bone in his body screamed at him to just run away. But he couldn't. This was a risk that he would have to go through, and then deal with its consequences, whatever they may be. "Should we talk?"

Her smile faded. "Sure."

"It will take a while. We might miss the fireworks."

"I'll live."

That settled it, then. Draco grabbed her hand and led her out of the ballroom and down the hallway, all the while reminiscing of another time when he had done exactly that in this very place. It was the day their relationship had begun – well, it had been nothing but a quick shag at the time, but it had certainly laid the foundation of the attraction that now existed between them.

Instead of taking her to his great uncle's study, as he had done the last time, he led her up the grand staircase, down a hallway and into the guest suite where he always stayed whenever he visited.

A large roaring hearth was the only source of light in the Green Room, which was named so because of the dark green tapestries that covered its walls. A pair of mahogany armchairs and a set of pouffes sat before the fireplace, so obviously comfortable that they seemed to call out to them. There was a small bar by curtained window and a desk in one corner, on top of which lay a tedious, half-read report about a large order of Anti-Paralysis Potion placed by the Asclepius Hospital for Magical Afflictions in Athens, Greece. He'd have to go through that tomorrow to ensure that there were no delays with the shipment.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Draco said much too formally as he summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and a pair of glasses. They sat down in the armchairs by the fire, and he started pouring the drinks manually, just so he had something to do. "You have questions."

"How are you?" Ginevra asked. " _Really_."

She'd taken him off-guard already; he hadn't thought that her first inquiry would concern his well-being. He glanced at her, saw how the firelight glinted in her eyes. "I am better, for the most part."

"Your sickness wasn't an infection, like last time?"

"No."

"It wasn't an infection the last time either, was it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"A hunch."

He could not help but be impressed by her intelligence. Not many people would have connected the two instances of illness so easily, considering how much detail he had imbued into his concocted story back then. "No, it wasn't an infection the last time."

He thought she would get angry because she had been being lied to, but once again she thwarted his expectation by nodding slowly, as if he had simply added absolute certainty to something that she was already almost sure of. "Well, then," she leaned back in her seat and took a sip of her drink. "Tell me the truth."

This was it, the moment of reckoning. Shit. Would it look weird if he just put his head in the fireplace instead?

"I have promised you the truth and you shall have it, but I will ask for a promise in return," he said monotonously as if he had rehearsed these words, which he had. "I want your solemn oath that whatever you will learn tonight will not be passed to anyone else, living or dead. No matter what happens, whether we stay together or not, you will not divulge this information unless you have my explicit permission to do so."

"I don't understand." Ginevra's brows had drawn into a frown. No doubt she had not thought that the answers she sought would be that big a deal.

"Your word, Ginevra. Do I have it?"

She continued to look at him in that confused way, as if she was wondering if he would laugh and tell her that this has been a joke. Then her expression cleared, as if she had realised that this was not one. "You have my word."

"I also have a request: once I start talking, please try not to interrupt." He said as he finished his glass of firewhiskey, refilled it, downed it and set the glass on the table with trembling fingers. "During the war, Potter, Weasley and Granger were captured and brought to the Malfoy Manor. Did they ever tell you about that?"

"Yes," her brows were drawn. "But what does that–" And then she stopped, as if she had suddenly remembered the request he had just made.

"I remember that day so clearly…" The Dark Lord had sent him on a series of rather horrifying missions, and when he had returned home for Easter, he had been called to identify Harry Potter. Draco had bent down before the young man with the disfigured face, looked into his very familiar bright green eyes, the eyes of his greatest nemesis from Hogwarts. "I knew right away it was Potter. Why I lied to protect him, I'll never understand myself."

After the daring escape of Potter's gang, Narcissa had rushed Draco out of the Hall and he had fled to his room like a bloody coward. He remembered sitting there, trembling like a leaf, waiting for the inevitable consequences of his actions.

"The Dark Lord was not happy with what happened," he said needlessly. Lord Voldemort had punished Bellatrix first, then Narcissa but Lucius had stepped in, admitting that most of it was his mistake; no doubt an attempt to save his wife from some pain.

His mother always said that they were surprised to see the Dark Lord fall for it – but he hadn't. By Salazar's blood, he hadn't. The Dark Lord had known what their true weakness was. And so, he had sent Lucius and Bellatrix on some errand, promising retribution if they failed him, ordered Narcissa confined to her chambers in her own home, and summoned Draco alone to the Main Hall.

"He called me, wanted to know why I didn't _recognise_ Potter. I told him about the stinging jinx, that I wasn't sure it was him. He asked why I didn't recognize Granger and Weasley. I told him I'd never paid much attention to them at school. " A bitter smile touched Draco's lips as he poured himself another drink, letting the sting of the alcohol soothe his throat and warm his belly. "He wasn't stupid, he could see I wasn't being honest. So, he tried Legilimency."

Serving as a Death Eater had made it even easier for Draco to numb his emotions and compartmentalize his thoughts. He had become a far superior Occlumens than his Aunt Bellatrix could predict, strong enough to hold off even Lord Voldemort – at least for long enough that he grew impatient and withdrew; Draco had no doubt that his mental barriers would have crumbled had the probe continued for another thirty seconds. "When that failed, the Dark Lord grew very angry," he whispered, repressing a shudder. "He continued to interrogate me, probably waiting for me to slip up."

" _Why did you not tell everyone that it was Potter?"_

" _I didn't know, my lord. I swear."_

" _Why would you want to protect him? Not starting to feel sorry for your old schoolmate, are you?"_

" _Please, my lord, I didn't know. I wasn't sure. Please–"_

" _You're lying. Crucio!"_

 _He writhed on the floor for what felt like centuries, his bones and muscles on fire. When it ended, he heaved a shaky breath, spat out blood and glanced up at Lord Voldemort. "I'm n-not lying. P-Please, my lord. Please…"_

" _Show me, then."_

 _Even through the remnants of the pain, Draco emptied his mind of all his thoughts and memories about Potter, Weasley and Granger. He allowed the Dark Lord to invade his mind, but only gave him access to bits of his life that were harmless: studying for Transfiguration exam in the Hogwarts library with Zabini, eating dinner in the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle, playing Quidditch against Hufflepuff, dining with his parents in the Manor, laughing as an irate Pansy told him that the idiot tattoo-artist had drawn a peony on her wrist instead of a pansy..._

 _As the Dark Lord drew nearer to Potter's capture and subsequent escape, Draco struggled to create a faux memory, one where a redhead boy and a familiar but not-too-familiar girl with bushy hair were held captive by the Snatchers, where he himself knelt to examine a massively disfigured face and said, "I don't know. I'm not sure."_

 _But the Dark Lord was nothing if not an exceptional Legilimens. He lingered on the memory, went through it again and again, and Draco started to panic. He hadn't imbibed enough details in it; Potter had no eyes, Weasley's face was blurred, his own words were robotic. And slowly the actual memory started to seep into his concocted one: Potter's eyes were turning green–_

 _Salazar, no._

 _He couldn't let the Dark Lord see the real memory. He would find out that he had lied, that he had known with absolute certainty that it was Potter and had feigned ignorance. No, no, no, the repercussions would be unimaginable, the punishment too harsh. Panicking, Draco veiled that memory altogether, letting it seep away from his mind so that no one could glimpse it again._

 _Which was perhaps just as bad, for now the Dark Lord_ knew _that he was hiding something._

 _The presence in his mind vanished, and he found himself staring into the livid eyes of the most dangerous Dark Wizard on the planet. "You dare deny Lord Voldemort?" he roared. "You, a cowardly little boy?"_

" _No, my lord," Draco was trembling. "Please, I don't–"_

" _Your parents are not here to protect you now, as if they could! You stand here, wandless, before me and disobey my command?"_

" _N-No. P-Please–"_

 _Lord Voldemort raised his wand, and Draco knew that he was going to die. This had not been a mere disobedience that could be punished with the Cruciatus Curse. This was bigger. He had knowingly protected Potter, the number one enemy. This was a sin, and such sins were beyond forgiving in the Death Eater code._

 _He was going to die._

 _Except he didn't want to die. So, he turned around to run; let them call him a coward, he was perfectly fine with being a coward as long as he was a 'living' coward. Even as his feet moved, he knew, somewhere deep down in his heart, that running was futile. There was no escape, there could be none, and yet he hoped. He had to try._

 _Petrified, he chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw a terrifying light emit from the tip of the Dark Lord's wand–_

Draco snapped back to reality, distracted by the pounding in his ears. He blinked and eyed the Green Room, unsure of how much of his story he had actually divulged, but he must have said enough because Ginevra was now kneeling before him, her hands on his thighs. It occurred to him that the reason she had moved closer to him was because he was hyperventilating.

"Take a deep breath. In. Out," she instructed, and he obeyed wordlessly. "Yes, like that. In. Out. Again, again and one more time."

It worked. The pounding in his ears, which must have been his thudding heartbeat, faded away. His limbs felt heavy, but he hurriedly took off his blazer and tie, and even unbuttoned his shirt, letting the cool air caress his sweaty, pale skin.

He leaned forward tiredly, his gaze locked with Ginevra's, who had made no move to return to her seat. He grabbed her hand and slowly moved it under his shirt, round to the scar on her lower back. It was a scar that he had never really let her explore; every time she would touch it, he would distract her with words or kisses. She'd never brought it up, so he assumed the distraction had been successful.

But now, her fingers moved over it slowly, inquisitively. "Is this where…?"

"Yes." It was where the Dark Lord's curse had hit him. Even after all these years, this circular patch of his skin, as big as her fist, looked as if it had been flayed, imbued with greyish ink, regrown and burnt again. In simpler terms, it was an ugly remainder of a cruelty that he had had to bear. "I-I don't recall much after that. Only flashes. I saw my mother and Professor Snape hovering above me. They looked frightened. And Blaise was there. He said something but I don't know what. I saw lime green robes and vials of potions and saw my father arguing with my mother, but nothing made sense. I was engulfed in a never-ending pain, so raw and deep that it made the Cruciatus Curse look like a joke," he told her. "I woke up in St. Mungo's a fortnight later."

With a horrible scar on his back and another long, knotted one on his thigh where his leg had apparently broken, bone protruding from skin and the nerves inside singed. He had never seen his parents look so relieved. Even the healers had looked like it had been some sort of a miracle. He was discharged after another fortnight, and by that time the Golden Trio had broken into and escaped from Gringotts in a rather dramatic fashion. Needless to say, the Dark Lord was once again furious. He slaughtered so many Gringotts employees in the Main Hall of the Malfoy Manor that it took the house-elves days to remove the blood stains.

"The Battle of Hogwarts took place after that. Lord Voldemort was defeated, the Aurors put me in Azkaban to await trail," Draco said. "And that's when it first happened."

It started with a headache, and then he was writhing on the dingy floor of the cell he was chained in. He must have had a high fever, for there were hallucinations: The Dark Lord getting ready to punish him, the Death Eaters leering at his weakness, a teary-eyed Pansy in Hogwarts uniform asking why he wanted to break-up, his father expressing his disappointment in him... He suffered through his worst fears and his worst memories, all the while his body convulsed in pain. "I don't know how long it lasted, hours or days; there's no way of telling time in Azkaban, but I assumed it was because of the Dementors." Who, for reasons beyond him, had come back to guard the prison; he later found out that the interim governing body at the Ministry of Magic had signed yet another pact with them – a pact that had been renegotiated only a few months ago. Idiots.

"After my trial, I moved back to the Manor, where I had a similar episode. That's when I started wondering. I'd thought that the Dark Lord had merely punished me that day after Potter's escape, but I should have known better." He looked down at his hands, a pointless urge to stall rising in him. "Blaise helped a lot. He was studying to become a healer and his father is an accomplished one in Italy."

"Blaise's father?" Ginevra cut in, inadvertently fulfilling his desire to delay the inevitable. The interruption made sense because as a member of Slughorn's idiotic Slug Club back at Hogwarts, she must have known that Blaise's mother was famous for having a long line of dead husbands.

"He's not dead. Blaise's parents divorced when he was little. They do not get along at all, and he pretends to get along with them. It's complicated."

"I see."

They dissolved into silence then, but Draco found there was no peace in it. There was an uncertainty between them; she was curious but not prying out of respect, he was utterly uncomfortable at baring his soul to someone else. Not to mention that he could see no ray of light at the end of this. It was going to end bad, and these quiet delays were not going to make anything easy. Might as well finish what he had started.

"It's a curse, some form of ancient Dark Magic that the Lord Voldemort twisted and cast upon me. As a result, I have these… episodes, which you have witnessed. That's why I collapsed that day at the Burrow, and that's why I was in the hospital months ago." He saw that she had visibly stiffened, her face reflecting a horror that she clearly could not absorb. Hoping to soothe her somewhat, he forced a smile. "You ought to be a detective of sorts, darling. You guessed that it wasn't an infection."

"Not funny," Ginevra snapped.

"No, it isn't," he conceded.

She bit her lip, deep in thought. Then – "I have questions." She had settled on the rug by now, her chin almost resting on his knee. It didn't feel right, having her by his feet.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit elsewhere."

"I'm fine." She dismissed his suggestion with a wave of her hand, then asked, "H-How often do you…?"

"Every few months. There isn't a noticeable pattern; I've had suffered attacks in consecutive months, and I went attack-free for almost a whole year once." Draco tried not to let his frustration show, but the unpredictability of this damned curse had been nothing but a pain in his arse for six years now. There were so many dreams and desires that he had had to shelve just to make room for the fact that he could drop at any time. "I've learned to recognise the triggers, though: dizzy spells, headaches, nosebleeds. I can usually tell when I'm about to fall sick." He would have known that day at the Burrow too, had he only paid some attention to what his body was trying to tell him. The exhaustion of working days on end and the excitement of sharing the news of his Nimbus venture with Ginevra had left him too distracted. He ought to kick himself for it.

The wheels were clearly turning in Ginevra's mind, for continued to observe him closely, her brows drawn. "If it is Dark Magic, then why did Zabini use muggle medicine to treat you?"

"Because the curse fights against any spell or potion aimed to directly counter it's effects," he answered. It had taken Blaise's father and his colleagues a while to figure out a way to tweak potions and spells that would fall in the gray area and would work on him – and even then, they had found that mixing them with muggle medications worked best.

"Back at the hospital, you looked like…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, shaky as if she was terrified even to think of the condition she had witnessed him in. She reached out and placed her hand atop his, a warm comfort in an otherwise cold life. "Will this curse kill you?"

"No. Nor will it shorten my life. As far as I know, it won't be passed onto my children as well." The curse disarmed him from being normal by causing him inconceivable pain, by wracking his body in such severe fevers that his organs struggled to continue on, by drowning him in such raw misery that he practically wished for the release of death. But he would not get it, not from the curse at least. "It is my punishment to bear for as long as I live."

"Oh, Draco," she breathed, and he noticed with some alarm that her eyes were filled with tears. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't need your pity, Ginevra," he snapped, wrenching his hand free from her grip. Pity would be the worst way for them to end things, and he would not have it.

"I'm not pitying you. I'm–"

"Feeling sorry for me? Yeah, that's called pity, darling." There was bitterness in his voice once again, and he took a few, deep breaths until he felt it drain away, leaving him hollow. In a softer, kinder voice, he said, "You don't have to try and comfort me, Ginevra. I just wanted you to understand."

"Alright." She nodded slowly, as if she could not quite get a read on him. "I appreciate it."

"And now that you do, you are not obligated to stay."

Ginevra did not respond instantly. But when she spoke, her voice was laden with something akin to incredulity. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Yes. No. Was he? He did not know himself. "I understand if you want to end things between us now," he said as he got up and took a few steps away from her. "I only ask that you keep this a secret."

It was vital that his condition remained a secret. He had enemies who would pounce on him if they knew. And he didn't want pity. He did not want to look weak.

So far, the only people who knew were his parents, Blaise, Daphne, and a small number of people at St. Mungo's who were bound by their oaths of confidentiality. He hadn't even shared this with Pansy, the woman he had loved so dearly; as a result, she had accused him of hiding things, of not letting her in. It was a major factor behind their break-up.

But now, he had told Ginevra.

Merlin, this was the first time he had been this honest with anyone, and while he did feel a bit lighter, he also felt as if a new weight had been placed on his chest; he did not know what the consequences of this night would be.

"You're a bloody idiot, Draco!"

"Am I?"

"Yes! I don't scare that easy." Ginevra got to her feet and raised her chin in a stubborn way that said that she had no intention of letting him push her away. "I wasn't scared by Voldemort himself, I will not be scared by a scar he left behind."

"The scar comes with a lot more."

"So do you."

"Exactly." Salazar, was she really this naïve? Did she not understand everything he had just said? He was a bloody cripple, forced to hide away from the world every time his damned scars flared up. He couldn't even play Quidditch for too long without the muscles in his thigh freezing up – another _gift_ from the Dark Lord. "I don't think you want to be with a man who comes with all this chaos."

"Why don't you let me decide what man I want to be with?"

Draco was stumped. He hadn't thought that she would want him. He hadn't allowed himself to imagine such a possibility. "You mean it?" he asked. "You still want to be with me?"

"Yes!" She sounded exasperated. Then, her frustration vanished, and she looked straight into his eyes. "Yes," she repeated in a softer but firm tone. "Of course, I do."

An emotion bubbled deep within him, one he could not name. It rose and rose until it lodged itself in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Overwhelmed, that was what the emotion was called. Or was it grateful? Relieved? Moved? Perhaps it was a mixture of all of them, a strange concoction of feelings that he had never felt before.

The world around him swam, but Ginevra remained so clearly in focus – until she wasn't; he saw her through a blurred daze, and felt his knees give away. He crumpled to the floor with a strangled gasp, feeling something wet drip on his cheek. It took him a moment to realise that it was his own tear. It was repulsive, really, that he had let his feelings get the better of him. His father would call it weak.

"Draco!" There were soft hands on his shoulders now as Ginevra knelt before him, looking at him in alarm.

"T-This is – I mean, I'm n-not–" He stopped, unsure what he wanted to say.

"If your Dark Mark or Death Eater robes didn't push me away, did you really think I'd leave you over a curse you suffered because of your bravery?"

Draco had been called many things in his life. Brave was not one of them. If he was being honest with himself, he thought he had been foolish to deny the Dark Lord all those years ago; had he known how much agony would be in store for him, he would never have protected Potter. But that she, Ginevra Weasley, thought his actions had been brave meant a lot. Bloody hell, he had not known that her validation would be so important to him.

And now, after years of being labelled a villain, a coward, a bully, he was _brave_...?!

He shook his head lightly, pressed his lips together in a futile attempt to keep everything at bay, but he could not. He felt his face crumble, felt his barriers break and he threw himself in her arms with a cry. Weak, weak, _weak_! – burying his face in her the crook of her neck and weeping like a child, but by Salazar, he _needed_ it. He needed to let it out, and he did. His pain, his frustration and the sheer injustice of that damned curse rolled out of him and he cried for himself, for a punishment that he would have to suffer for the rest of his life, for the nightmares that will never leave him and for the loneliness he will be entombed in because of it.

It took a while for his tears to stop and his sobs to reduce to the occasional hiccough. Ginevra held him this entire time, her hands running consolingly over his back as she murmured words of comfort in his ear.

Finally, he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. Up close, he could see that her eyes were wet too; he could practically could the glimmering tears on her lashes. "Ginevra," he whispered and claimed her lips in a fiery kiss, hoping to convey his gratitude through his touch.

They rose to their feet breathlessly, and he led her to the adjoining bedroom. Moonlight streaming in through the tall windows lit the otherwise dark room, painting its pastel green walls in a pale light. Draco stopped by the large four-poster bed to kiss her once again, this time much more tenderly. Their clothing came piece by piece, and they dropped onto the quilt.

Her freckled skin tinged blue, red, yellow and green, illuminated so because of the grand fireworks in the sky outside – and he realised that the new year must have started. Oh, well. He would wish her in the morning; they had said all their words, there would be no need for any more this night.

Ginevra paid no heed to the loud whistling, crackling, booming sounds of celebrations outside either. Her fingers prodded at his scars tenderly, then traced his spine before burying in his pale gold hair; he had realised early on in their relationship that she quite liked making a mess of his usually well-kempt hair, something that he allowed her to do whenever they were intimate.

He let his own hands roam her body, feeling the curve of his hips and the swell of her breasts. His fingers prodded and explored and teased, causing her breath to hitch.

Once the anticipation became too much, he joined their bodies. She let out a gasp, he a grunt and they stilled for a moment. They had danced this dance many times before. There was one less veil between them, an unburdened secret that allowed them to look at each other with much more clarity. He had fucked her before, he had had sex with her – but as he moved to a slow, sensuous rhythm, her caresses gently on his skin and his gaze locked with hers, Draco realised that this was the first time he was making love to Ginevra Weasley.

 **xx**

Draco Malfoy was a man of many secrets.

And he had now divulged one of his biggest secrets to Ginevra. Whether it was the right decision or not, he did not know, but she had stood by him through his sickness, which meant that she had earned the right to know the reason behind her vigil.

There was still plenty he had not told her: his adventures as a Death Eater for one, but he was never going to share those and he had a feeling that perhaps she wouldn't want to know such details either.

She also did not know about the emergence of Antonin Dolohov and his offer to rejoin the ranks of the Death Eaters. The last few weeks had gone by in silence, but Draco reckoned that Dolohov would get in touch with him soon; it was not like the bastard to let things go without a definitive answer. What answer Draco would give was still undecided... He did not want to become a part of that wretched movement again, but saying a flat-out 'no' would mean that his and his family's lives would be in mortal danger.

But he couldn't quite bring himself to panic about that looming danger; Ginevra was lying sound asleep in his arms, and her soft breaths soothed his worrying heart. For now, Draco was content.

* * *

 **I do not speak the French language myself, but Draco does so I had to enlist the help of Google Translate. If there are any mistakes, please forgive me!**

 **Other than that, what did you think of the chapter? Please leave a review and let me know.**

 **I'm going to start working on the next chapter soon, and I'll post it as soon as its finished. Until next time! x**


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